


SherlocK: Before He Became a Consulting Detective

by LadyWithaQuill



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Slash, m/m - Freeform, malexmale_ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 17:03:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18077450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWithaQuill/pseuds/LadyWithaQuill
Summary: This is Sherlock’s story before he became a consulting detective. He leaves London in his final school year with his parents. He makes an almost fatal mistake, misreading one of his professors from Liverpool University and drops out in his final year. Mycroft convinces him to return to London to complete his degree. When he can’t cope with the nightmares haunting him, he turns to drugs, which lands him in the psych ward of a hospital. His life turns around after he finds his calling, to be a consulting detective. It went even better after he finds his soul mate, John Watson.**Johnlock.**Mystrade.





	1. Moving to Liverpool

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer  
> This story is based on the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's, Sherlock Holmes, as well as on the works of Mark Gatiss' and Steven Moffat's, Sherlock - BBC.  
> All characters, with the exception of a few names, are based on Sherlock BBC.  
> This story is pure fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental.  
> This story may be copied, distributed, reposted, reprinted and shared, provided it appears in its entirety without alteration, and the reader is not charged to access it.

Sherlock was in his last year of school when the company his father worked for relocated to Liverpool and they had to move. He wanted to remain in London with his brother, but his parents refused. Little did he know Mycroft was the one behind it.  
“There’s only six months of school left, why can’t I stay with Mycroft?”  
His mother glared at him. “He doesn’t have time to babysit you,” she repeated her eldest son’s words on why Sherlock couldn’t stay with him.  
“I’m old enough to look after myself. I don’t need a babysitter.” Sherlock stormed to his bedroom and slammed the door shut. He fell down on his bed and buried his face in the pillow.  
His mother barged into his room. “What did I tell you about slamming doors in this house? You better start packing. We’re moving the end of the month.”  
He jerked his head up. “But that’s in two weeks.”  
Without a word, his mother turned around and walked out.  
He snorted and hopped around onto his other side to face the wall. He pulled up his knees to lie in a fetal potion, which he often did when he was upset.  
Later that afternoon, his father came home from work announcing he was leaving the next morning for Liverpool. “We emptied all the offices today. I have to leave early to help them setting up for work on Monday.”  
“When will you be back?” his wife asked.  
“I have to stay. My boss already booked me into a hotel until you and Sherlock join me in two weeks.”  
Sherlock strolled into the living room after eavesdropping on the conversation. “So, you’re leaving Mummy and me alone? We have to struggle on our own with packing and organizing a furniture truck.”  
His father glanced at him. “Jeez, it’s only for two weeks, Sherlock. You’re a grown man, I think you can manage.”  
His mother scoffed at him. “You told me a few hours ago you’re all grown up.”  
“Argh,” he mumbled and jumped around to head back to his room.  
“Don’t you go anywhere, Mister,” she called out. “Set the table, supper is almost ready.”  
Sherlock threw his hands in the air. “I should’ve been a girl,” he yelled before marching into the dining room.  
His mother jumped up and stormed out of the living room. She stopped in the dining room doorway and glared at her son. “Stop it, now. You’re beginning to annoy me. You’re not the only one who’s upset that we have to move. I had to give up my flower shop and my yearlong friends. You’re still young. You can make new friends at school.”  
He cast his eyes down. “I’m sorry, Mummy. You’re right as always.”  
She snorted. “Set the table I’m bringing the food.” She turned away and walked over to the kitchen.  
Sherlock opened the buffet’s drawer and stared at the eating utensils. If she only knew how hard it was for him to make friends. After four years alone in high school, he finally made friends with a boy in his class last year.

***

The two weeks went by quickly. The furniture truck was loaded and ready to go.  
Sherlock stood in the doorway and glanced inside the empty bedroom, his domain of the past seventeen years. His parents bought the house after they got married and lived there ever since.  
“Come love, the truck is waiting.”  
He turned around, nodded and walked past his mother to her car.  
As they drove through the gate, a black sedan with tinted windows pulled up next to them. A chauffeur jumped out, hurried over to the backdoor and opened it.  
A dapper young man in a navy-blue suit climbed out and leaned on a black umbrella.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes when his mother uttered a shriek of joy.  
“Mycroft,” she called out when she jumped out of the car. She hurried up to him and threw her arms around his neck. “I was wondering if you were coming to greet us before we leave.”  
Sherlock opened the door and dragged himself out of the car.  
Mycroft smiled at his mother. “Oh Mummy, you know I wouldn’t let you go without saying goodbye.”  
The two brothers greeted each other with a nod.  
He glanced at Sherlock. “And you, little brother, are you excited to see the new house?”  
“No,” he replied bluntly. “I’m going back to the car. Good day, Mycroft.”  
“What’s up with him?” he asked after Sherlock walked away.  
“Oh, don’t mind him. He has been this grumpy ever since we received notice about moving to Liverpool. Complaining about leaving his friend behind.”  
He arched his brows. “Sherlock doesn’t have friends, Mummy. Well, as far as I know.”  
“He made friends with a boy in his class last year. Matt, or Mark, ugh can’t remember the name.”  
He narrowed his eyes. “Matthew Clarkson, Matt for short,” he asked. “A short boy with brown hair,” he added when his mother pulled a face.  
“Yes, that’s the one. I saw him only once or twice. But how did you know who he was?”  
He cocked his head and smiled. “Mummy, I’m working for the government, remember.”  
She nodded and carried on talking about the boy. “Sherlock never brings him home. He’s mostly at that boy’s house.”  
Mycroft smiled as he glanced at his brother in the car. “Well, well, well, my brother has a friend.” He looked back at his mother. “Who would’ve guessed?”  
“What does that mean?”  
He gasped. “Oh, nothing, I’m glad for him.” He smiled again. “Well, I have plenty of work waiting for me and you have more than three hours of driving ahead of you.” He kissed her on the cheek and returned to his car. “Give my love to Daddy, and be careful on the road,” he said before getting into the back.  
She waited until the black sedan pulled away before she strolled back to her car.  
“Mycroft had plenty to talk about. I thought he came just to say goodbye,” Sherlock remarked after his mother climbed back in the car.  
She turned to him and frowned. “Why are you so jealous of your brother?”  
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not.”  
She shook her head, started the engine and pulled out of this driveway for the last time.  
The truck driver hooted when she drove past him. He put the truck in gear and drove off, following them.


	2. A New Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and leaving kudos ♥

Sherlock hated every minute of his new school. He didn’t make any friends in the six months he attended. He kept to himself, minding his own business.  
School closed early. Everybody in his class, except him, went to a bar to celebrate the beginning of their adulthood.  
When he arrived home from school, his mother greeted him at the front door with an envelope in her hand.  
“Guess what this is?” she cried out when he walked through the door.  
He shrugged while shaking his head.  
“A letter from Oxford, you’re accepted.” She smiled, holding the envelope out to him.  
He glanced at the tore edges, looked up and shook his head again. “I’m not going and I don’t want to become a lawyer.”  
“But Sherlock,” she cried out. “It’s the Holmes family tradition. Your father, your grandfather, and great grandfather, as well as Mycroft went there. You can’t throw your life away like this. You have to get a degree in something. A high school diploma only, won’t get you anywhere.”  
He furrowed his brows. “Who says anything about throwing my life away? I’m going to the University of Liverpool. I’m going to study biomedical science and become a lab analyst.” He turned around and left her standing in the corridor, while gaping at him.  
He shut his bedroom door behind him.  
After he changed out of his school uniform, he fell down on his bed, thinking of Matt.  
For two months, he received letters from him every week. The letters diminished until it stopped, even though Sherlock kept on writing, sending a letter to him every week.  
It had been a month since he last heard of him, until yesterday. In the letter, Matt asked him to stop writing. He cancelled their plans to spend the holidays together and stated, using scare quotes, he moved on.  
The thought of seeing Matt by the end of the year, kept him going these past six months. He was his first friend, his first… love. Now he had nothing to look forward to, except a tedious Christmas vacation with his parents at home.

***

Surprisingly, Mycroft put Britain on hold and came to visit for Christmas. He stayed the week and left after New Year’s Day.  
The dormitories opened the second week in January for the students to move in, enroll into classes and get their study rosters, before attending university the following Wednesday.  
Sherlock kept to himself as usual. After his classes, he spent his time in the library doing research until suppertime. Thereafter he buried himself in his textbooks in the dorm room.  
The quiet dormitory was bliss to him during weekends. He preferred to stay in instead of going home. Once every two months, just to please his mother, he would go home for the weekend.  
Sherlock was a straight-A student, like in high school. The other students became jealous of him. They made fun him. Some called him a vampire for his pale skin and tall slender physique, while others called him a geek for being constantly in the library.  
In the beginning of his fifth and final year, his science professor fell ill and had to go on sick leave for the remainder of the year.  
Monday morning the class awaited the arrival of their new science lector. It was past eight and still no sign of him.  
While waiting, Sherlock put his elbow on his desk, supported his head on his fist and shut his eyes.  
Minutes later, the new lector barged through the door and apologized with an excuse that his car had a flat tire.  
Sherlock didn’t move, except for fluttering his eyes when the door banged. He despised people coming late, even more those who had to set an example.  
“I’m Professor Andrew Marks,” the new lector said while writing his name on the black board. He turned back to the students and smiled as he glanced over each of them. His brow arched when he noticed Sherlock’s blasé attitude.  
A list of students’ names and locations where they sat in the classroom lay on his desk. He picked it up and glanced over it. After finding the name he was looking for, he strolled over to him.  
Sherlock jumped when the professor banged his hand on his desk. He stared at the long slender fingers on the desk in front of him.  
“Mister Holmes, do you find me boring already?”  
He raised his head slowly and locked eyes with his new science lector. He almost gasped aloud as he laid eyes on the tall sturdy man with the short blonde hair.  
Sherlock stared into his bright blue eyes. His heart pounded rapidly.  
His brow flicked once, the only indication that he was he pulling himself together. “On the contrary, Professor Marks.”  
He snorted. “So, at least you’ve paid attention while I introduced myself.”  
“I always pay attention, Professor.”  
He narrowed his eyes as he gazed at his student. “I don’t want to see you with closed eyes in my class again.” He turned around while asking them to open their textbooks.  
Sherlock gazed at him as he walked away, pausing his eyes on his rear end. With effort, he dragged his gaze away from the man and opened his textbook. His hand shivered as he paged through the book. The last time butterflies twirled in his stomach and his flesh crawled with excitement, was the day he met Matt.


	3. A Big Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos ♥

After experiencing Sherlock’s intelligent questions during lectures and looking at his previous test scores, professor Marks realized Sherlock had an inquisitive mind that absorbs relevant information like a sponge. With a mind like that, he had bright future ahead of him. He reached out to him to enhance his ability from A-grade student to a cum laude student.  
One day after class, he called Sherlock aside. He waited until all the students left before he asked. “Do you have another class now?”  
“No, why do you ask, Professor?”  
“Me neither. Do you want to have coffee with me at the cafeteria downstairs?”  
Sherlock stopped breathing while staring at the handsome man.  
“If you have something else to do, we can make it another time.”  
He nodded at first before becoming aware of what he was doing and shook his head. “No, I’m not busy. Coffee will be nice.”  
They became friends and spent more time with each other.  
Two month later, professor Marks invited Sherlock to his home for the weekend. He picked him up Saturday morning. They went for breakfast at a nearby diner, did some shopping afterwards and returned to his home late afternoon.  
After they unloaded the shopping bags, he showed Sherlock his room before taking him for a tour through the house.  
“Your house is lovely, Professor.”  
“We’re not at uni now. Please, call me Andrew.” He placed his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and steered him towards the kitchen. “Would you like some wine.”  
He nodded as he took place against a cupboard. His heart rate increased when Andrew brushed against him while leaning over him to reach for the wine glasses.  
He poured white wine, handed a glass to Sherlock and gazed at him. “Why are you so quiet?”  
He took the glass from him, sipped on the wine and shrugged. “I don’t know.”  
Andrew grabbed his hand and dragged him into the living room. “Come sit and relax. Forget about classes and uni. Just be yourself.”  
Sherlock glanced at him when he sat down on the couch. Could that be an invitation? He didn’t want to make the same mistake as with Matt. They were attracted to each other. Both were scared to make a move and he left London without kissing Matt once.  
He put his glass on the side table before he took place next to Andrew on the edge of the couch and turned to him.  
“So tell me, did you make any decisions on the list of labs interested in you?” he asked and moved forward to sit on the edge of the couch as well.  
Sherlock gazed at the full lips as it moved while he spoke. He took a deep breath, leaned over and kissed him.  
Andrew gasped aloud, shoved him away and jumped up while wiping his mouth. “Good god, why did you do that?”  
Sherlock’s eyes enlarged. Within seconds, he stood on his feet and held his hands in the air. “I’m so sorry. I thought… I thought you were… I’m sorry,” he brushed his fingers through his hair.  
Andrew glared at him. He snorted. “You have a brilliant mind. Now you want to throw it away with this gay shit.”  
Almost in tears, Sherlock paced up and down with his hands locked behind his head. “Oh god, what have I done?” he murmured. With tears in his eyes, he glanced at the furious man in front of him. “I think I better leave.” He turned away and hurried down the corridor.  
Andrew charged forward and caught up with him before he could enter the room. He grabbed him by the arm and flung him to the floor.  
Sherlock’s head hit the doorframe. He turned around, crawling on his backside into the room trying to get away from his professor.  
Andrew grabbed hold of his crotch, pacing towards him while yelling. “Is this what you came here for? Is this what you want?”  
“No, I misread you.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I said I was sorry, please don’t hurt me.” He crawled until his back hit the bed.  
His head jerked sideways when a fist bashed into his face, another blow followed, lacerating his lip.  
Andrew kicked him in the ribs before he grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him up on his feet. He shoved him onto the bed. “You’ve asked for it. I will give it to you,” he cried out as he loosened his belt, pulled down the zipper of his pants and exposed his erected penis.  
Sherlock’s eyes enlarged. Before he could jump up, the professor fell on top off him, pinning him down. “No,” he cried out.  
Andrew tore his shirt trying to keep him down while he wriggled to get away. “Stop squirming, you want to shag, we’ll shag.” He struggled, but managed to pull Sherlock’s pants down.  
He hollered with pain when his professor penetrated him from behind. “Please stop, you’re hurting,” he begged.  
Andrew ignored him. He kept on thrusting into him, harder and harder.  
Sherlock grasped onto the headboard, trying to pull himself away but failed.  
Only his lips moved as he begged once again for mercy.  
His grip on the headboard loosened, his arms were getting heavier until he let go when everything blackened in front of him.  
“I’m done,” Andrew announced as he pulled up his pants and fastened it. “Get dressed and get the fuck out of my house.” He left the room and strolled towards the bathroom.  
After a long shower, he reentered the room. “Mister Holmes, there’s no seconds. Get dressed.” He frowned, paced closer and gasped aloud when he discovered his student was unconscious.

***

Sherlock regained consciousness. He reached out to his throbbing head and shrieked with pain when he touched the side of his face. He became aware of the cold hard floor underneath him. Where was he? He tried to stand up, stumbled and bumped his head against a wall. “Help,” he called out. Somebody had to come and help him up. He struggled to focus. Unable to familiarize himself with the surroundings he shut his eyes.  
His whole body was sore and stiff.  
When he licked his dry lips, it left a taste of iron in his mouth. He brushed over his lips, feeling the coarseness of dry blood underneath his fingertips.  
With effort, he rolled onto his stomach when he noticed a lighter part in the darkness around him and crawled towards it. He sighed with relief as he reached it. It was a door. He continued crawling until he was out on the pavement.  
The sun had already set. It was almost dark, but there was still enough light to try and figure out where he was.  
He strained his eyes to focus. A white blur moved in front of him. The blasting of a ship’s horn nearby echoed in his throbbing head. He was at the harbor.  
Sherlock lowered his head and sighed before everything blackened in front of him again.  
When he woke for the second time, a bright light shined above him. He shut his eyes and turned his head to the side before he opened them up again. He blinked a few times, before he could focus. Everything was white around him, except for the light blue curtains.  
His head wasn’t throbbing anymore.  
The smell of disinfectant hit his nostrils. He was in hospital.  
He turned his head to the other side and blinked again. “Mycroft?” he murmured. Was he dreaming?  
“Ah, my little brother is awake.”  
Sherlock shut his eyes. “So, I’m not dreaming?” he mumbled again.  
Mycroft chuckled. “Fortunately not, brother dear.” He moved his chair closer. “I see you became a child of the night.”  
He opened his eyes and furrowed his brows. “Ow, it hurts.” He relaxed his facial muscles before he asked. “What do you mean?”  
“What were you doing on the harbor next to the public toilet? That means only one thing, Sherlock.”  
“What? You don’t make sense.”  
“Those toilets are used for male prostitution. Why didn’t you ask me for money?” He shook his head. “Mummy can never find out about this, it will send her to the grave.”  
“Are you out of your mind? I’m not a bloody prostitute.”  
Mycroft drew his lips in a thin line. “Oh, but you were bloody indeed when we found you.”  
Sherlock sighed and turned his head away.  
“Are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to draw my own conclusions?”  
“Well, you already have.”  
“I’m telling Mummy you were mugged, near the university. Don’t tell them you were at the harbor.”  
“Do you mind, I’d like to rest now.”  
Mycroft moved his chair back. He took out his cell phone and left the room to make a call.  
He returned after a few minutes and gazed at Sherlock’s bruised face and swollen lips. He sighed, walked back to the chair and sat down again. “I worry about you, constantly,” he murmured.  
“Then why didn’t you allow me to stay with you in London six years ago?”  
He gasped aloud. “I thought you wanted to sleep.”  
“I said I wanted to rest.”  
Mycroft rolled his eyes. He took one of the magazines on the nearby table, crossed his legs and paged through it.


	4. Final Year Dropout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos ♥

Sherlock stayed in hospital for another two weeks before his doctor discharged him. He never told anybody what actually happened to him that day, neither did he pressed charges against professor Marks.  
After a month, he recovered of visible scars. The invisible ones remained, and that worried his family.  
The first signs were showing when Sherlock refused to go back to university.  
Mycroft flew in from London, on his mother’s demand, to talk sense into his brother’s head.  
After a long discussion, Mycroft convinced him to go back to London. He would pull a few strings to get him into a university there.  
A month later, he booked Sherlock a flight back to London.  
Mycroft sent his chauffeur to pick his brother up from the airport, then to the university.  
The next morning, Sherlock had to attend his first science class. He paused in front of the door for a while before he entered.  
The lector stopped writing on the blackboard. His hand remained on the board as shut his eyes and bit on his teeth. He hated when someone interrupted him while writing a formula on the board. “Can I help you,” he asked without looking at the person who entered.  
“I’m transferred from Liverpool. My brother, Mycroft Holmes, arranged for it.”  
The lector lowered his hand and turned to him. His gasped when he laid eyes on the tall slender student with the ruffled black curly hair. He gaped at him. The man had a pair of cheekbones any women would envy. He looked like a boy with his flawless pale skin. He couldn’t be older than nineteen.  
“Am I in the right class, Professor?”  
“Huh, um…” He stuttered when he replied. “Yes, sit here… I mean there…” He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. “Take a seat, Mister, um…”  
Sherlock smiled faintly. “Holmes, Sherlock Holmes.” He turned away, searched for an open desk and strolled towards it.”  
“How old are you? This class for final year students. You can’t possibly be in your final year.”  
He turned around. “I’m twenty-two, Professor. I am a final year student.”  
He arched a brow. “I’m Professor Linder, by the way.”  
“I know. Your name is on my subjects list.” He turned back to the desk, chucked his sling bag on the floor and sat down.  
Professor Linder nodded. “Oh, yes of course.” He turned back to the blackboard and rolled his eyes. He made a complete fool of himself in front of the students.  
The professor glanced at the formula on the blackboard, his mind a blank. He turned again to face the students. “Who can complete this formula?”  
All of them raised their hands, except Sherlock. He didn’t pay any attention. His head rested on his hand while he paged through the textbook.  
“Mister Holmes, will you do us the honors?”  
Sherlock didn’t move. He didn’t look up.  
The professor walked over to him and knocked on his desk. “We don’t daydream in my class, Mister Holmes.”  
There was still no reaction from him.  
The professor reached for the textbook and shut it.  
Sherlock gasped and raised his head.  
“Your first day in my class and you’re already daydreaming.”  
“I’m sorry I wasn’t. I was thinking.”  
The students burst out with laughter.  
“Well, that’s a good thing then. I hope you thought about that formula.” Professor Linder pointed to the blackboard. “Will you please complete it?”  
Sherlock stood up. He glanced at the board then at the professor next to him. He stood head and shoulders above the man and had to lower his head to look him in the eye. “Do I have…” he pointed to the front.  
“Yes, you have to go down there and write on the board with this.” He held a piece of white chalk out to him.  
Sherlock took it from him and strolled down to the board.  
The professor remained standing in the back of the class watching the boy’s cute butt as he walked away. He rolled his eyes again, covered them with his hand while pressing his thumb and forefinger on his temples. He had to stop doing this and concentrate.  
The lecture room buzzed with talking students.  
He took his hand away from his eyes to quiet them down when he noticed the blackboard. His eyes enlarged. The boy completed the formula in record time and was on his way back.  
Sherlock glanced at the professor’s gaping face. He looked back at the board. “Did I make a mistake?”  
He shook his head slowly before he turned to him and drowned in the boy’s green-blue eyes. With difficulty, he removed his gaze and returned it to the front. “You did a great job. Even I couldn’t have done it with that speed.”  
Sherlock took place behind his desk again.  
Professor Linder strolled down to the front and checked his watch. He sighed, still another thirty minutes to go. Why was this lecture taking so long today?  
He opened his briefcase on the desk and took a bottle of water out. He drank from it, put it down on the desk and pulled himself together before continuing the lecture.

***

While Sherlock strolled down the corridor back to his dorm room, the sad howling of violin music drifted towards him. He stood still and listened a while before he walked off in that direction. He found the room the music came from, paused and leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed.  
Tears welled up while a sharp pain gnawing on the inside of his decaying heart. He shut his eyes, allowing the music to drench his soul, masking the hurt. He should’ve died that day. How could he trust anyone again? He would never make the first move again. Neither would he ever allow anyone to touch him again.  
“Are you okay?”  
His eyes flung open. He didn’t even notice the music had stopped.  
The woman who was playing the violin stood in front of him, frowning.  
He nodded. “I was enjoying your beautiful music.”  
She smiled. “Thank you, glad you liked it. It’s my own composition. I usually compose this kind of music when I’m sad. Do you play?”  
“No, I can’t. My studies keep me too busy anyway.”  
“Oh, it’s a pity. I would’ve granted you my services.”  
Sherlock furrowed his brows.  
The woman chuckled. “To teach you how to play the violin.”  
He snorted. “Of course. Like I said, my studies –” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “I’m behind with my studies I won’t be able to fit that in as well. I have to get going.”  
“You’re welcome to stop by and listen any time,” she called out when he was halfway down the corridor. “I didn’t catch your name,” she added.  
He turned around and waved at her. “Sherlock Holmes. Thank you, I will.” He carried on walking while recalling the music she played.  
Ten minutes later, he entered his room. He chucked his sling bag on the bed, thinking again of the violin music. Maybe he should give it a try. He could make time for it.  
He rushed to the door, locked up and trotted back to the music room.  
Willa smiled when he appeared in the doorway. “Sherlock Holmes, I knew you would change your mind.”  
He smiled and entered. “I didn’t get your name either.”  
“It’s Willa. Sit down. I will get you a violin.” She disappeared into a room at the back and returned with a violin case. “I prefer that my students have their own violins, but I do make exceptions.” She gave it to him and started his first lesson by telling him the names of the different parts of the violin. “This may seem like useless information, but it is important. Now stand up.”  
Sherlock obeyed.  
She continued to show him how to position the violin under his chin and the correct way to stand while playing it.  
An hour later, he glided the bow over the strings for the first time. He grimaced when it squealed like a shrieking cat when someone stepped on its tail.  
Willa chuckled. “It’s sounds awful I know, but with practice comes precision and with precision you can bring forth beautiful music.” She gazed at the young man in front of her. “Reach out for perfection, Sherlock and one day you too, can touch someone’s soul with your own compositions.”  
He smiled faintly while nodding. “I better get back to my studies.” He held the violin out to her. “Thank you.”  
“Keep it, you have to practice.” She took it from him when he shook his head. “I’m here every day, except on Sundays.”  
He nodded, left the music room and hurried back to his room.


	5. Get Your Act Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos ♥

Almost every night, Sherlock woke up screaming from the haunting nightmares. After two months, his roommate filed a complaint. He moved out with the permission of the Dean, now Sherlock had the room all to himself.  
That afternoon, Mycroft visited him after receiving a phone call from the Dean. “You can’t go on like this. You need professional help, Sherlock.”  
He brushed his fingers through his hair and held onto his head, yelling. “I can deal with this on my own, stop whining.”  
“Well, you’ve been here for more two months and I don’t see any progress.”  
Sherlock jumped up from the bed. “Why did you nag me to come here? You should’ve left me in Liverpool.”  
Mycroft’s face flushed. “You refused to go back to that university. I couldn’t allow you to throw four years of study down the bloody drain,” he cried out. “I thought I did good to bring you here, but apparently not.” He stood up from the chair, leaned on his umbrella and glared at his brother. “Get your act together, Sherlock. I don’t want another call from the Dean, ever.” He walked over to the door, opened it and turned around. “Make some friends, for god’s sakes.”  
Sherlock grimaced, accentuating his words as he announced. “I don’t need friends.” He fell down on his bed, turned his back on the door and pulled his knees up to his chest.  
Mycroft glanced at him and shook his head while leaving the room.  
Sherlock jumped up when the door shut. He took the violin case out of the cupboard, locked his door and rushed over to the music room.  
Since he took up violin lessons two months ago, he practiced every day. He was a quick learner and could play a piece of music after a month.  
Willa was locking up when he came running down the corridor. “Hello love, I was wondering where you were.”  
“Can’t I practice for just thirty minutes?”  
She smiled, unlocked the door and turned back to him. “I want this back before eight tomorrow morning,” she said when she handed him the set of keys.   
He took it from her. “I promise.”  
“Don’t let anybody else in.”  
“I won’t.” He shut the door after she left and took his usual place at the back of the room. He played the piece of music he practiced, flawless.  
Sherlock lowered the violin and stared blankly in front of him, recalling Mycroft’s words. He was not going to make friends. He was perfectly fine on his own. He had to get his act together, though. Exams started next week and he didn’t open a book, yet. He was neglecting his studies and could only blame himself for it.  
Professor Linder passed the music room on his way home, when he noticed the light was still on. He glanced through the window and smiled. He opened the door and gazed at the beautiful man. “Mister Holmes, I didn’t know you played the violin?”  
Sherlock flung around and gasped aloud. “Professor Linder, what are you still doing here?”  
He stepped closer. “I give extra classes three times a week. Where is Professor Casseli?”  
He frowned. “Do you mean Willa?”  
The professor arched a brow. “Yes, Willa.”  
“She left a few hours ago. She gave me her keys to lock up when I’m done.”  
“So, you missed supper, it’s past six already.” He took a deep breath. “I’m on my way to a diner. You want to join me?”  
Sherlock’s heart started racing. His eyes grew large when he recalled the last time he went home with one of his professors. “I um… can’t. No thanks, I have to study.” He put the violin and the bow in the case and shut it. “I have to go.”  
Professor Linder frowned at the young man’s dark enlarged eyes. “Are you okay? I was just offering you a free meal, nothing else.”  
He picked up the violin case and shoved it under his arm. “I know, but I have to go, Professor.”  
He took him by the arm when he walked past him.  
Sherlock yanked his arms loose. “What are you doing?” He glared at him.  
“Nothing, I want to speak to you.”  
His breathing started racing. “Don’t touch me ever again.”  
The professor held his hands up. “Fine, I won’t. Just calm down.” He gaped at the young man, before he followed him to the door.  
Sherlock slammed the door shut and locked up. He trotted down the corridor, leaving a baffled professor behind.

***

Simon sighed as he shook his head after Sherlock disappeared around the corner. Why did he react that way? It was as if he had a panic attack, but why. The boy was fine until he suggested that they had supper together.  
He kept on pondering about the boy on his way to the parking area. He got into his car and drove off.  
At the diner, he stared blindly at the menu. His eyes flickered when the waiter came to take his order. “Oh, sorry, give me a second.” His eyes skimmed over the menu while the waiter stood next to him waiting. “I’ll have the Caesar salad and a glass of white wine, please.”  
After the waiter brought his food, he stopped him before he could leave. “Could you bring me a burger and large chips as well, takeaway?”  
The waiter nodded and left.  
Simon couldn’t get the boy out of his head, now less than ever. He should probably stopped thinking of him as a boy. He shook his head. He’s so damn cute. If he could only brush his fingers through those ruffled curls of him.  
He sighed when he pushed the empty bowl backwards. He didn’t finish his wine, stood up and took the brown paper bag with burger and chips inside. He left enough money on the table and left the diner.  
Simon drove back to the university. He passed the faculty members’ parking and stopped in front of the dormitory entrance. He got out of his car and rolled his eyes. How could he give the food to him, he didn’t know his room number?  
He entered the building and paced down the corridor until he found someone. “Excuse me. Do you know in which room is Sherlock Holmes?”  
The student shook his head. He directed him to a notice board at the entrance. “There’s a list with names of the students.”  
Simon thanked him and headed back to the entrance. He found the notice board and next to it the list of room numbers. He searched until he found Sherlock’s number. “First floor, number fifteen,” he whispered. He trotted up the stairs, found his room and paused in front of it. Maybe he should leave the bag in front of the door. No, someone might take it.  
He walked over to room fourteen and knocked on the door.  
A young man opened up. “Hello, Professor. What brings you here?”  
Simon rolled his eyes. This was childish of him. “Sorry, I have the wrong room.”  
The young man shrugged and shut the door.  
He returned to room fifteen and knocked.  
Sherlock’s eyes enlarged when he opened up. “You again?”  
When he shut the door, Simon stuck his foot in the doorway, keeping the door ajar.  
“What do you want from me?”  
He held the brown bag out to him. “I want nothing. I brought you something to eat.” He removed his foot, put the bag on the floor and turned away.  
Sherlock opened the door, bent down and picked up the bag. “Thank you,” he called out.  
Simon turned around and smiled. “You can’t go to bed on an empty stomach, Mister Holmes.” He turned back and trotted down the stairs.

***

Sherlock stared at his professor until he disappeared. He shut the door, opened the brown paper bag and glanced inside. Not hungry, he ate only a few chips. He put the rest of it with the burger back in the bag.  
He took out his science notes and textbook before he dropped onto the bed and turned on his stomach. He had to study if he wanted to remain a grade-A student.  
While studying, Sherlock’s thoughts went back to professor Linder. It was kind of him to bring him a takeaway. He sighed. Poor man, all he wanted was to take him for dinner. He would apologize tomorrow after class for being so rude. Maybe he should take him for coffee – “No, are you insane,” he cried out, reprimanding himself. He shut his eyes. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice – professors were off limit.  
Sherlock studied until two the next morning. He fell asleep on top of his books.  
A nightmare woke him at six. It was driving him insane. He should get something to occupy his mind. The violin alone wasn’t sufficient.  
As promised, he dropped the musical room’s keys off before eight that morning and rushed to be in time for his first class.  
At ten, he had back-to-back science with professor Linder. He had to look him in the eye sometime or the other, but why today for two hours.  
Sherlock took his seat in the back of the class, glad the professor wasn’t there, yet.  
He glanced at the students as they entered and arched a brow when he picked up something about them he never noticed before. The guy in front of him had a string of red hair on his jumper, but his hair was black – perhaps a girlfriend with red hair or the jumper didn’t belong to him. The girl next to him had crumbs on her corduroy jacket – she had biscuits for breakfast.  
He smiled. Since when did he have the ability to read people? If he only had it before… He lowered his head and shut his eyes.  
“I’m not that late, Mister Holmes. You can’t be sleeping already.”  
Sherlock jerked his head up. “I wasn’t sleeping…” He gaped at the professor as he strolled towards him. Why were his eyes full of sparkles?  
Professor Linder stopped in front of his desk. “How are you this morning, Mister Holmes?”  
Sherlock smiled faintly while deducing him. Shirt not properly ironed – no cleaning lady. He shaved, but missed a spot on his chin – in a hurry, overslept perhaps. He had some shaving cream left on his right ear and there was a coffee stain on his tie – definitely in a hurry. “Fine, thank you. Did you overslept, Professor?”  
His eyes enlarged. “Yes, I have, but how did you know?”  
Sherlock pointed to his ear. “Traces of shaving cream.”  
He grabbed hold of his ear, trying to rub the cream off. “The first day in months I didn’t have early lectures and I overslept. I have to get to the bathroom before I can continue.”  
“Not necessary, Professor, it’s not visible to the eyes of normal people.”  
He frowned. “What does that mean?”  
Sherlock shook his head. “Sorry, I was thinking out loud.”  
From that day on, Sherlock had hours of fun deducing his fellow students, driving them mad. He deduced his professors as well, but always kept it to himself.  
After deducing professor Linder a few times, he became aware of the professor’s feelings for him and agreed to meet him for coffee. Although his deductions were never wrong, he remained skeptical and chose the university coffee shop for their meeting.


	6. The First Real Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos ♥

Sherlock passed his final year exams successfully. After graduation, he moved into a tiny bachelor flat Mycroft had organized for him. With a biomedical science degree in hand, his brother also found him a position at St. Bartholomew hospital’s laboratory.  
He continued to play the violin. On his off days, he went back to Willa at the university for more lessons.  
After the third attempt of asking him on a date, Sherlock finally agreed and went to dinner with professor Linder.  
After they gave their order to waiter, he deduced people entering the restaurant, avoiding eye contact with Simon.  
He stopped breathing for a second when he became aware of a warm hand on top of his. Now he had to look him in the eyes. He didn’t, though. Instead, he lowered his head and stared at the table.  
When Sherlock moved his hand to free it, Simon tightened his grip. He gasped and raised his head slowly until they locked eyes. This man wanted more than he could give him. He wasn’t ready for a relationship.  
“I think you know by now how I feel about you, Sherlock.”  
He nodded, struggling to find the right words he kept on staring at the man in front of him. He swallowed a dry lump before he took a deep breath. “I’m not ready for a relationship, Simon. I hardly know you. Besides, I’m so busy at the lab I don’t have time to social.” Sherlock rolled his eyes after Simon broke eye contact. What a lame excuse, why didn’t he tell the man he couldn’t be in a physical relationship, not now – maybe never.  
“Can’t you skip a violin lesson just once a month to make time for me? I know you’re still seeing Willa for lessons. Well, actually she told me.”  
He returned his gaze to Simon. He did like him. Maybe he should give him a chance. While licking his lower lip and after sucking on it, he noticed a sparkle in Simon’s eyes. He was turning the man on. He let go of his lip immediately and placed the back of his fingers in front of his mouth, distracting him.  
“If you want me to beg, I’ll beg,” he said smiling faintly, his eyes pleading.  
Sherlock snorted. “Oh, please don’t.” He sighed. “I’m not the person you think I am, Simon. You might hate me if you see me more often.”  
He smiled. “I could never hate you, Mister Holmes. Since that first day you walked into my class room, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”  
The side of his mouth slouched as tried to hide a smile. “If you promise not to rush me into anything, we can give it a try.”  
Simon’s eyes enlarged. “I promise.” He gazed at him like so many times before.  
Sherlock sucked on his lip again.  
“But if you keep doing that, I won’t be able to hold my promise.”  
Sherlock furrowed his brows. “Doing what?” he asked biting on the left side of his lower lip.  
“What you are doing right now, biting and licking your lip.”  
His face flushed. He let go of his lip and sighed with relief when the waiter brought their food. This would keep the professor’s mind out of the gutter for a while.  
After they enjoyed their meal and was on their way back to the car, Simon suggested that Sherlock went back to his place for a nightcap before taking him back to the flat.  
He refused bluntly. “I told you not to rush me. Can you please take me to my flat?”  
Simon’s eyes enlarged. “Fine, I’ll take you back. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”  
“And keep your trousers on, professor Linder.”  
He gaped at him before he blinked a few times. “I beg your pardon. The invitation to my house was for a drink only. I’m not some… sex maniac, Mister Holmes.”   
Sherlock kept a straight face while hiding a smile behind his hand. This was the first time he saw him angry. It made him look kind of sexy. He also adored it when he called him Mister Holmes.  
Simon stopped in front of the block of flats and turned to him. “Are you free this weekend?”  
“Only Sunday.”  
“Great, I’m picking you up at ten. I’m cooking you lunch. How can we get to know each other if we don’t spend some time alone?”  
He nodded. “I’ll be ready.” He opened the car door. “Thanks for dinner, I’ve enjoyed it.” He gasped aloud when Simon put a firm grip on his shoulder, pulling him closer. He blocked him with his hands against his chest. “Please don’t, not tonight.”  
He let go of Sherlock and sighed. “Sorry, I promise to take it slow.”

***

After visiting Simon’s house on Sunday, Sherlock agreed to another visit. This time he allowed him to kiss him goodnight after taking him back to the flat.  
“You see, I don’t bite.”  
He snorted. “I knew that. I just need some time to adjust.”  
Simon frowned. “What do you mean by that?”  
“Something happened when I lived in Liverpool. I’m still trying to figure out how to cope with it.”  
“Oh god, what –”  
Sherlock held his hands up. “Don’t ask me,” he said while cutting him off mid-sentence. “Neither my brother nor my parents know the story.”  
Simon traced his fingers over Sherlock’s slender hands. “You can tell me when you’re ready.” He kissed him on the cheek before he let go of his hand. “When can I see you again?”  
He chuckled. “Out of the question this week.”  
“What about the weekend?”  
“Saturday violin lessons and on Sunday I have to work.”  
“Can’t I pick you up after your lessons? It’s not the whole day, is it?”  
“Don’t push it, Professor.”  
Simon sighed. “You’re a difficult man to persuade, Mister Holmes.”  
“I’ll call you if I change my mind.” Sherlock jumped out the car before Simon could get hold of his hand again. He strolled over to the driver’s side and bent down. “Thanks for a lovely day.”  
Simon brushed his finger over Sherlock’s cheek. “I hope you change your mind.” He smiled while watching his beautiful man walking away. He started the engine and waited until Sherlock entered the building before he drove off.


	7. A Disastrous Sleepover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos ♥

Sherlock visited the professor more often at home. Simon found it more and more difficult to keep the promise he made with each visit. Sherlock wakened feelings inside him he never thought existed. The sexual tension building up frustrated him. Each time after a visit, he had to speed back home, to take a cold shower after dropping him at the flat – but not today, not tonight. Sherlock agreed to stay over for the weekend.  
Simon stood in the doorway and gazed at him stretched out on the couch, watching television. After six months without sexual interaction between them, except the odd kisses now and again, it was time to break his promise.  
He turned around and walked into the kitchen. After placing his hands on the surface of the cupboard, he leaned against it and shut his eyes. He gained Sherlock’s trust and he didn’t want to lose it due to bloody sex. Simon banged his fist on the cupboard. He stormed out of the kitchen, stopped in the living room doorway and glanced at Sherlock. “I’ll be with you in a minute. I’m going to take a shower.”  
He turned around to look at him. “I’m going nowhere, I promise. Enjoy it.” He turned back and while repositioning himself on the couch, his tiny PT shorts moved up exposing his slender, but well-formed, upper thighs.  
Simon rolled his eyes while shaking his head and rushed to the bathroom.  
Horny as hell, he jumped into the shower and opened the cold-water tap. He gasped aloud when the cold water jetted onto his warm skin. He sighed while glancing down at his erection. The cold water was useless today.  
After a few more minutes, he relaxed. He got out, dried himself and put on a baggy tracksuit pants and t-shirt before he returned to the living room.  
Sherlock was lying on his back when he entered.  
He couldn’t stop staring at the man’s crotch. He wanted to grab him, undress him and…  
Sherlock interrupted his thoughts. “Hey, you’re back. How was the shower?”   
“Huh?” Simon blinked a few times. “Refreshing,” he lied.  
Sherlock jumped upright and patted on the seat next to him. “Come watch telly with me. You’ll find it interesting. It’s about quantum physics.”  
He sighed inward when he took place next to him. The only thing he would find interesting now, was shagging him. He put his hand on his bare thigh.  
Sherlock removed his hand, draping it over his shoulder as he turned sideways to put his head on Simon’s lap.  
He rolled his eyes – so much for a cold shower. He suppressed another sigh while placing his other hand on Sherlock’s head, brushing his fingers through the ruffled black hair, twirling the curls around his fingers.  
“Hmm, that feels nice,” he murmured. He picked the remote up from the floor, switched the television off and turned on his back. He placed his hand on the side of Simon’s face and gazed into his eyes. “I know what you want.” He shook his head before he continued. “But I can’t give it to you.”  
“Why not, why won’t you tell me what’s haunting you?” Simon took the hand from his faced and drew it against his chest. “Every time we kiss, you push me away as soon as it steams up between us. Don’t you think after six months I need more than just kisses?”  
Sherlock jumped upright. “This is why I don’t want to sleep over. The few hours we spent together protected me from this.” He glanced at him. “You should find someone who can give himself completely to you, someone without baggage, without issues.”  
Simon grabbed his arm and pulled him back on his lap. “I don’t want someone else, I want you, Sherlock. Don’t you understand? I love you.”  
He shut his eyes after those words. “I love you too…”  
“But?”  
Sherlock took a deep breath before opening his eyes. “I’m scared.”  
“Why, is it because of what happened to you in Liverpool?”  
He nodded and turned his head away.  
“Listen, I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to be scared of me.” Simon sighed. “I, um… I’ll be gentle if you just allow me.” He moved out from under his head and stood up.  
Sherlock glanced at the hand reaching out to him. He hesitated before he took it.  
Simon pulled him up. “Come let me show you how gentle I am,” he whispered before leading him down the corridor to the master bedroom. He made Sherlock sit down on the bed and sat astride him. He started to kiss the side of his neck. “Don’t be scared,” he whispered and continued to kiss his neckline. Simon shut his eyes when he became aware of the growing bulge underneath him. His lips came down on Sherlock’s mouth. Without forcing, he welcomed his tongue inside his mouth.  
Tiny moaning sounds escaped form their mouths as they aroused each other.  
Simon took his t-shirt off and dropped it on the floor. “May I,” he asked. As soon as Sherlock nodded with approval, he took off his shirt and chucked it aside. He pushed him gently backwards and lay on top of him. His breathing sped up while brushing his crotch against the bulge in Sherlock’s shorts. “Pull up your legs,” he murmured.  
When he pulled his legs up, Simon took hold of the elastic band and slipped Sherlock’s shorts off before he got rid of his tracksuit pants.  
Sherlock’s eyes enlarged and he gasped aloud, when their bare skin touched.  
“Shh, just enjoy it,” Simon whispered while panting. “Pull up your legs.”  
“But my legs are pulled up.”  
“Higher.”  
“No Simon, please,” he begged.  
There was no stopping him now. He lowered his shoulders, forced Sherlock’s legs over them and raised his rear end from the bed before he positioned himself on top of him again. “This is what I wanted.” His breathing raced. He kissed him again, not noticing the panic in the man’s eyes underneath him. Simon came upright, took hold of his erection and tried to enter Sherlock. He looked at him. “You have to relax, love. I can’t get it in.”  
Tears welled up in his eyes. “I don’t want you to.”  
“Why not, this is the best part.” He ignored him and tried again.  
“Stop it,” Sherlock yelled. He hit against Simon’s chest, yelling. “Get off me. I don’t want to.” He yelled again and wriggled, trying to get away. “Get off me.” He kicked, missing Simon’s face with millimeters.  
Simon’s eyes enlarged. He let the legs slipped of his shoulders and get hold of Sherlock’s arms, pinning him onto the bed. “Look at me,” he called out. “Look at my face. It’s Simon. I’m not the one who hurt you before.”  
“Please, let me go. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”  
“Sherlock,” he yelled. “Look at me for god’s sake.” He smacked him across the face.  
Sherlock gaped at him, his eyes wild and enlarged.  
He jumped up and raced for the door.  
Simon jumped off the bed. He caught up with him, threw his arms around him and held him tight. “I am not that monster from Liverpool who hurt you.”  
Sherlock struggled to free himself. “Let me go. I want to go home.”  
Simon walked him to the bed and fell down on it with him. “Calm down. You’re going nowhere.” He didn’t relax his grip.  
He stopped struggling and sighed. “I can’t do this. I told you, you were going to hate me one of these days.”  
“I won’t. I love you.”  
He relaxed after a while and fell asleep in Simon’s arms.  
In the middle of the night, Sherlock woke up when Simon shook him. “What’s wrong?”  
“You were making noises in your sleep. You were having a bad dream. Are you okay?”  
He nodded. “I’m just tired.”  
They nestled against each other and fell asleep again.  
In the early hours of the morning, yelling and crying woke Simon. He reached out to wake him.  
Sherlock jumped out of bed, breathless. With enlarged eyes, he stared at him. “My nightmares are back.”


	8. Goodbye Professor Linder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos ♥

Sherlock ignored Simon’s phone calls after that weekend. When he knocked on his flat door after work, he pretended to be not at home. He avoided him for a month until Simon showed up at the lab one morning.  
“I told you the last time we spoke. I can’t see you because I’m swamped with work.”  
“You’re lying. Tell me the real reason why you’re avoiding me.”  
“Find someone who can give himself completely to you, someone without issues.”  
“Stop this bullshit. We’ve had this discussion already. I love you and I don’t want anyone else, but you. When is your day off?”  
“Tomorrow.”  
“I’ll pick you up at ten.”  
“No, I have violin lessons.”  
“I’ll take you, and afterwards we are going to have a nice long chat.”  
Sherlock nodded. He waited until Simon disappeared into the lift before he rushed off to his locker. He grabbed a small plastic sachet out of his bag, took one of the tablets and popped it into his mouth.  
Molly came looking for him and found him sitting on the floor in front of the lockers. “Are you alright, Sherlock?”  
He jumped up, straightened his clothes and glared at her. “Yes, I’m fine. What do you want?”  
She smiled faintly at him. “I have a John Doe in the morgue. You said I have to call you as soon –”  
“I know what I said, Molly,” he cried out, cutting her off mid-sentence. He rushed out of the locker room and hurried down to the morgue.  
After collecting samples from the cadaver for research, Sherlock went back to the lab.  
He knocked off at five and found Molly in the hospital foyer when he was on his way out. “Thank you for letting me know about the body.” He didn’t wait for a reply and hurried past her.  
Sherlock popped another one of the tablets from the sachet after he arrived at his flat. He took the violin and played on it until late.  
Not wanting to go to sleep, he popped another tablet. It kept him awake and free from nightmares.  
The next morning, he didn’t wait for Simon to pick him up. He left the flat early.  
Sherlock was playing the violin, when Simon barged through the door of the musical room.  
“Why didn’t you wait for me? I told you I was picking you up.”  
He kept on playing. “Don’t interrupt me.”  
“Where’s Willa?”  
“She went on her tea break.”  
Simon jumped around and rushed out.  
Sherlock didn’t even notice he was gone until he returned with Willa next to him. He stopped playing and glanced at the two of them.  
“Tell him what you told me,” Simon said, glancing at her.  
She sighed. “Sherlock, you don’t need any more lessons. You’re close to perfection playing the violin.”  
He smiled at them, put the violin in its case and handed it to Willa. “Thank you. I’ll buy my own the end of the month.”  
“Sherlock, you can keep it.”  
He shook his head. He glanced at Simon as he walked past him and left the musical room for the last time.  
Simon caught up with him in the corridor. “What’s going on with you?”  
He stopped and turned to him. “I think you better leave. I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time with me.” He turned back and continued walking.  
“Stop acting like a child, Sherlock.” Simon caught up with him again. “Why are you so difficult?”  
“Simon, I’m not the person you think I am. Leave now, while you still like me.”  
He shook his head, watching the man he loved, walking away.

***

Sherlock was losing sleep of the uppers he popped regularly. He didn’t eat and lost a lot of weight. He sat in front of the computer, staring at the screen, the words swimming in front of his eyes.  
“Why don’t you go home for the day?” one of his colleagues asked.  
He shook his head and tried focusing on the words again.  
“Look at you, you need to sleep. You have dark circles under your eyes.”  
“I’m fine. Leave me alone, Linda.”  
“I use to have a problem sleeping as well. I can give you some of my sleeping tablets, if you want to?”  
Sherlock raised his head and looked at her. “Is it strong?”  
She nodded. “Oh, yes. I take only a half and sleeps through until the next morning.”  
He nodded. “I’ll take some.”  
She hurried out of the lab to the locker room.  
When she returned, she held the plastic container out to him. “You can have it. I have more at home.”  
He took it, flipped the lid and glanced inside. “It’s half full.”  
“I know. I don’t take it regularly anymore, but I keep filling my script every month.”  
“Will you cover for me? I think I’ll go home as you suggested. I’m anyway off tomorrow.”  
She nodded and watched him stumbled out of the lab. Her eyes enlarged. There was something wrong with him.  
Mike stepped into the lab and glanced around. “Where’s Sherlock?”  
“I sent him home. He doesn’t look to well.”  
“Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out.” He hurried out of the lab and went downstairs to the HR office. He inquired about a telephone number for Sherlock’s next of kin, but they refused to give it to him if he didn’t have permission from him or from the head of HR.  
“Let me see him then.”  
“He’s busy. You can’t just barge in there.”  
Mike returned to the lab. “HR won’t help me and I can’t see the head because he’s busy. I know he has a brother here in London, but I don’t know his address, or where he works.”  
Linda held a cell phone up. “Maybe the number will be on here.”  
His eyes enlarged. “Is it Sherlock’s? Where did you find it?”  
“Next to the computer, he forgot to take.”  
Mike grabbed it from her. He scrolled down the contacts, found Mycroft’s number and dialed it. “Hello, no it’s Mike. He left his phone at the lab. That’s not why I’m calling. Something’s wrong with him. He doesn’t focus on his work and he doesn’t eat. You should see how thin he is.” He ended the call and gave the phone back to Linda. “He will send someone to collect the phone.”  
“And what about Sherlock?”  
“Mycroft is on his way over to him now.”


	9. Another Hospital Another Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos ♥

After knocking and banging on the flat’s door, Mycroft phoned his chauffeur to come up and break the door down.  
He grimaced when he entered the flat. Newspapers were scattered over the floor. Dirty coffee mugs and teacups stood on the kitchen cupboard.  
He found his brother passed out on the couch and gasped when he noticed how skinny he became. When he walked up to him, something cracked underneath his shoe. He picked up the broken container and arched a brow. How many of these did he take? He shook him, but couldn’t wake him up. “Oh Sherlock, what have you done.”  
Mycroft took his phone out of his pocket and called an ambulance. He gave them the address. “Please hurry. I don’t know how many of the sleeping tablets he took.”  
The paramedics barge within minutes through the door. They connected him on a heart monitor, put him on the stretcher and wheeled him out. The lift was too small for the stretcher with a patient on it to fit. They had to carry him with it down the stairs.  
Mycroft followed the ambulance to the hospital.  
After the medical personnel pumped Sherlock’s stomach, they admitted him into the psych ward, before Mycroft could see him.  
He sat next to his bed, waiting for him to regain consciousness.  
Several hours later, Sherlock opened his eyes. “Where am I?” he mumbled. “What are you doing here?” he asked when he noticed Mycroft.  
“Yes, once again I saved you, little brother. This is the second time in just over a year I’m sitting next to your deathbed. Are you stupid or something?”  
“What the hell do you mean?”  
“Look at yourself. You’ve become a bloody drug addict. Good god Sherlock, you have so much potential and you’re throwing it away.”  
He pushed himself upright. “I’m not a drug addicted. I took only two sleeping tablets.”  
Mycroft jumped up. He opened his medical file, took out the lab results and chucked it on the bed. “Then explain the amphetamine sulfate they found in your system.”  
Sherlock shoved the paper off the bed. “I need it to get rid of my nightmares.”  
“I told you to seek professional help but you refused. Now look where it brought you.”  
“I’m not addicted to it. I can stop at any time.”  
He drew his lips in a thin line. “That my little brother is a lie and you know it. As soon as the doctor discharges you, you are going to a rehab center.”  
“I can’t, what about my work at the lab? I’m not due for leave yet.”  
“I will secure your employment at St Bart’s.” Mycroft smiled. “I’m working for the government, Sherlock. I can let anything happen.”  
After two days, Sherlock’s body craved the amphetamines. His whole body shivered. His head wanted to explode with the throbbing pain in his temples. He yelled at the staff, threw the trays of food on the floor as soon as they left his room. After many attempts reinserting his intravenous feeding to boost him with vitamins, they gave up when he pulled it out again.   
On the third day, they locked him up in a soundproof padded room, while keeping an eye on him via a monitor.  
Not allowed to visit in the padded room, Mycroft watched the video footage of him.  
Sherlock crawled on the padded floor. Sometimes he lay on his back staring without blinking. He talked to himself waving his hands and arms in the air. A day later, he noticed the cameras high up on the wall. After receiving his food, he threw it at the cameras.  
Mycroft called one of the nurses closer. “Where do I turn the sound on?”  
She smiled and adjusted a button on the bottom of the video until they could here Sherlock screaming.  
He pushed the pause button, waited until she left before rewinding the video. He found the part he looked for and pressed the play button.  
Sherlock stood on top of the bed, waving his arms while yelling. “I know you can see me, Mycroft. I hate you for doing this to me. I hate you. I hate Liverpool and –”  
He snorted when he stopped playback, not interested to hear what he was going to say next. Sherlock hated him and he was just looking out for him.  
With tears in his eyes, Mycroft left the control room.  
At the lift, one of the psychiatrists caught up with him. “Mister Holmes, could I speak with you for a minute?”  
He turned around and smiled. “Yes of course, something the matter, Doctor?”  
The doctor led him into a vacant room. “What happened to your brother in Liverpool?”  
“What did he say?”  
“Nothing, when he’s awake. He’s having nightmares at night. Then he yells at someone to leave him alone and stop hurting him. All this we gathered from the video footage. When he sits with me during a session, he refuses to say a word.”  
Mycroft sighed before he told him his version of the incident in Liverpool.  
The psychiatrist nodded. “Did he ever denied or admitted to your accusation of him being a prostitute?”  
He shook his head. “What do you think happened to him, Doctor?”  
“Your brother was sexually assaulted. I’m not sure by whom.”  
Mycroft gasped aloud before covering his mouth. “Poor Sherlock.” He shook his head. “I’m so hard on him. This explains everything.”  
“I would like to keep him here a while longer after he comes out of the padded room. How long that will take,” He shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s a brilliant man, did you know that.”  
“I know. I think that’s why I’m pushing him so hard.”   
“He knows exactly what he’s doing. Never once did he hurt any of the staff members. A psychotic man would’ve.”  
Mycroft nodded and sighed with relief. At least Sherlock wasn’t losing his mind.  
“Well, thank you for your time, Mister Holmes.”  
They shook hands before taking a course in different directions.

***

After seven days, they released Sherlock out of the padded room and took him back to the psychiatric ward.  
He drummed his fingers on the trolley while watching the nurses making his bed. “Why am I back here, I’m not crazy?”  
“You have to ask your doctor, Mister Holmes.”  
He flopped onto the freshly made bed. He locked his fingers behind his head and raised his voice. “I’m bored. Give me something to do, anything.”  
“Is it really necessary to shout, Sherlock?”  
His head jerked up. “Oh, it’s you,” he said and dropped back on the pillow.  
“You look much better,” Mycroft said.  
He snorted. “Sorry I can’t say the same about you, brother mine.”  
“I see they couldn’t get rid of you rudeness.”  
Sherlock jumped upright and let his feet hang from the bed. “They didn’t get rid of anything. When are they discharging me? I’m bored. I miss my violin and I want to get out of this nuthouse.”  
“Doctor Müller wants to keep you here for another week, maybe longer.” He glanced at his brother before taking a seat next to his bed. “I can help you if you want to make a case against the person who hurt you in Liverpool.”  
“Why would I make a case? To whom are you referring?”  
“Come on. Don’t play stupid with me. I work for the government. It’s my job to find things out.”  
“Ugh, Mycroft Holmes is the British government.” Sherlock fell back on his bed. “Stay out of my business, Mycroft, or you may discover more than your little brain can handle. I’m not a saint you know.”  
He scoffed at him. “Oh, that I know, brother dear.”  
“Next time you visit, bring me some biscuits will you. The buttermilk kind.”  
Mycroft recognized that was his cue to leave and stood up. “Will do. Behave now, until next time.”  
Sherlock jumped out of bed after his brother left and hurried to the nurses’ station. “Do you have something for me to do?”  
One of the sisters dragged him into the duty room. “Don’t let matron or one of the doctors catch you.”  
He smiled and followed her into the stock room.  
She showed him the stock sheets, opened the cupboards where they kept all the medical supplies and gave him a pen. “Are you up for it?”  
“Anything will make me happy.”  
With a head for numbers, mathematics and logic, Sherlock helped the nurses counting stock, balancing their drug books and working out the formulas for the correct dosages before they could administer prescribed medicines.  
Deducing the new patients as they wheeled them passed his room, he helped many a time with diagnoses when the psychiatrists missed something.  
Although doctor Müller was not happy that Sherlock refused the tablets he described, he was impressed with his improvement.  
By the end of the week, he discharged him, after two weeks in hospital.  
Mycroft sent his chauffeur to pick him up at hospital with a message that he would visit him later that evening.


	10. Meeting DI Lestrade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos ♥

Mycroft made a rule to visit his brother on a regular basis to keep an eye on him and to see if he coped. Sherlock stayed drug free and picked up the weight he lost.  
One day while sitting in a diner, Mycroft arrived with an unknown man on his side. Sherlock gazed at them, deducing the man. He was a police officer, perhaps a private investigator. He wore a wedding ring recently. Why did he take it off?  
Sherlock furrowed his brows. He recognized the look on the man’s face. He was attracted to Mycroft – smitten to be exact. The man couldn’t stop smiling neither could he take his eyes off him.  
He drew the waiter’s attention before he stood up.  
The waiter rushed over to him. “Your food will be ready any minute, Sir.”  
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m joining them.” He pointed to his brother’s table. “Would you serve me there?”  
“No problem, Sir.”  
Sherlock smiled as he strolled over to his brother. He stopped behind him and placed his hands on his shoulders while bending down. “Fancy seeing you in a place like this,” he whispered in his ear.  
Mycroft gasped when he jerked his head around.  
“I’m his brother, Sherlock,” he said and held his hand out to the man.  
He jumped up, took his hand and introduced himself. “Lestrade, Greg Lestrade.” He remained standing and gazed at Mycroft.  
“Oh for heaven’s sake sit down, Greg. You too, Sherlock.”  
“Business or pleasure?” he asked after taking a seat.  
Mycroft glared at his brother. “None of your business.”  
“Then it must be pleasure,” he said, smiling.  
Greg glanced at the two brothers. “Would you excuse me for a second,” he said, stood up and left the table.  
“What are you doing here, Sherlock?”  
He scoffed at him. “I can ask you the same thing. This is not your usual dining place.”  
Mycroft rolled his eyes. “He can’t afford a grand restaurant on his salary.”  
Sherlock arched a brow. “And how would you know? Oh wait, you work for the government. You logged into his bank account before dating him. Why do you keep him a secret?”  
“I don’t. I would’ve brought him along to meet you on Saturday.”  
“He’s quite handsome.”  
Mycroft’s face flushed. “Yes, isn’t he?”  
“Good catch, Mycroft. Where did you meet?”  
“He was working on a case, MI6 took over.”  
“Police officer?”  
“Yes, detective inspector at New Scotland Yard.”  
Greg returned, brushed his hand over Mycroft’s shoulder as he passed him and took place next to him again. “Sorry I kept you waiting.”  
“You didn’t, love. I was just telling Sherlock how we met.”  
His eyes enlarged. “I thought you said we have to keep it a secret.”  
“He’s my brother, we don’t have secrets.” He turned to Sherlock and smirked. “Do we, brother mine?”  
“That’s debatable.”  
Mycroft kicked him under the table, turned back to Greg and smiled. “Decided what to order from the menu yet, dear?”  
“No.” He grabbed the menu lying on the table next to him. “Give me a few minutes.”  
The waiter brought Sherlock’s food. After he put on the table, he turned to the other two and waited for their order.  
“I’ll have the chicken schnitzel,” Mycroft said and patted Greg on the hand.  
“Huh.” He looked up and noticed the waiter. “Oh yeah, right, a beef burger and chips with fried onion rings on the side, please.”  
“How can you eat that greasy food? When last did you check your cholesterol?”  
Greg snorted. “There’s nothing wrong with me or the food I eat.” He poked him in the ribs. “You can do with a bit of greasy food. I don’t like bony men, you know.”  
“You haven’t seen me naked, yet.”  
Sherlock snorted and choked on his food. He coughed a few times, before he was able to take a sip of water. “At least now I know you haven’t slept together, yet.” He put his fork down. “Greg, why did you take your wedding ring off?”  
“Good god Sherlock, that’s private.”  
Greg placed his hand on Mycroft’s arm. “No love, it’s not a secret. I’ll tell him.”  
“I was married, am married. The wife and I split up a few months ago.”  
“So, technically you’re still married?”  
He nodded. “Yeah, I did file for a divorce.”  
“What if your wife wants you back, what about my brother?”  
Mycroft let his head hang and covered his face with his hand.  
“No, there’s no chance in hell. I won’t take her back.”  
Sherlock picked up his fork again. “There’s no guarantee either.”  
“Would you please stop it?” He glared at his brother. “This is not an interrogation.”  
Greg crossed his arms in front of him. “How did you know about the ring? I took it off a month ago.” He examined his ring finger. “If you look closely you can still see the mark, but not from where you’re sitting.”  
“I saw it from where I sat after you came in.”  
Mycroft snorted. “My brother discovered his natural endowment. More of a nuisance, I would say.”  
Greg moved his chair closer to Sherlock. “Tell me more about this…” He pulled a face and glanced at Mycroft. “The what?”  
He rolled his eyes. “Are we really discussing this now?”  
He patted Mycroft on the hand. “Yes love, this sounds very interesting.”  
Sherlock smiled. “Deduction,” he answered to avoid a lovers tiff.  
Greg’s head jerked back to him. “Yeah, that.”  
“Let’s see.” Sherlock turned his head to the table closest to them. “That man is married. The woman opposite him is not his wife.”  
“Perhaps he’s on a business date,” Mycroft remarked.  
Sherlock glared at him. “Holding her hand?”  
“How do you now she’s not his wife?” Greg asked, glancing at the man and woman.  
“Look at his wedding ring. It’s fitting tight around his finger and the gold is fading, not sparkling like a new ring. He’s married about ten years, maybe longer. If she’s his wife, she had to be fifteen when they got married.”  
“Wow, that’s excellent,” he remarked. “Deduce someone else.”  
Sherlock smiled, enjoying it to annoy his brother. He glanced at another table, deduced the couple and continued to the next until Mycroft banged his fist on the table.  
“Stop showing off and stop trying to impress my boyfriend.”  
“Oh, I’m impressed alright.” Greg put his hand on Mycroft’s thigh and gave it a squeeze. “Maybe Sherlock can help me on a case I’m struggling to solve.”  
“Fine go on, pretend I’m not here.”  
He smiled at him before he turned back to Sherlock to inform him about the case. “Come down to the station. I’ll give you the case file to go through. Perhaps take you to the crime scene.”  
“I can be there tomorrow morning.”  
Greg smiled showing off his perfectly formed white teeth. “Isn’t this great, love,” he said returning his gaze to his date.  
“I’m sorry, are you talking to me?”  
Sherlock kicked Mycroft’s leg under the table.  
The two brothers glared at each other.  
“Come on, love. Don’t you want me to solve the case, get the scum in jail and tidy Britain’s streets up a bit?”  
“Not if you are going to ignore me.”  
Greg moved his chair back and traced his fingers across Mycroft’s arm while leaning over to him. “I’ll make it up to you, say tonight.”  
“Yes Mycroft. Then you can show him you don’t need greasy food, you’re not that bony after all.”  
“Oh shut up, Sherlock.”  
“I better get a move on. This table is getting to soppy for my liking.” He moved his chair backwards and stood up.  
Greg jumped to his feet. “It was nice meeting you, looking forward to work with you.”  
Sherlock nodded while smirking at his brother. “Evening,” he greeted and left the table.


	11. The Consulting Detective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos ♥

Sherlock took a taxi the next day to meet with Greg at New Scotland Yard. After going through the case files, he took him to the crime scene at an old house in Brooklyn.  
When they returned after a few hours, Greg called Sally, a detective and Anderson, a forensics expert, who’s working on the case with him to his office and introduced them to Sherlock.  
“Are you a private detective? Sally asked.  
“No, he’s a lab analyst with deduction skills,” Greg answered on behalf of Sherlock. “Tell them about the extra clues you found.”  
They glanced at each other while listening to Sherlock’s findings.  
“That’s impossible. We’ve searched thoroughly,” Anderson said.  
Sherlock ignored the remark. “You have to question the gardener again.”  
Sally gaped at him before she turned to Greg. “Why did you bring him in? Are we not good enough anymore?”  
DI Lestrade held his hands up. “No, that’s not it. Just hear him out.”  
Sherlock explained to them why he thought the gardener was the killer.  
“We’ve already interrogated him. He’s innocent. I’m not going to waste my time.” She pointed at Sherlock as she glanced at Greg. “Who does he think he is?”  
Anderson chuckled. “This is police work, not some kind of lab experiment.”  
Sherlock glared at the two them. “Well Greg, it seems to me your team has everything under control. I refuse to listen to their insults any longer.” He turned around and walked out of the office.  
Lestrade glared at them. “Why are you so rude to the man? He went out of his way to help us. Bring the gardener in for further questioning, that’s an order.” He rushed out of his office and caught up with Sherlock outside the building, waiting for a taxi. “Don’t mind them. Are you sure it’s the gardener?”  
Sherlock turned to him. “If he is the killer, I will help you with your other cases.” He lowered his arm when a taxi stopped next to him. He opened the door and glanced back at Greg. “Your cases, my time, free of charge. Afternoon, Detective Inspector.”  
Greg stared at the taxi driving off. Goodness, not even six hours on the case and he solved it. He could be an asset to the station.  
The ringing of his cell phone drew his attention. “Lestrade,” he answered. He smiled. “Hello love. Yes, he just left with a taxi.” He smiled again. “I told you last night your brother is impressive.” His face dulled. “Don’t be silly. Why would I leave you for him?” He glanced at his watch. “I have to go. Will I see you tonight?” He nodded. “I’ll be home at five. Greg smiled once again as he put his phone away while walking back to his office.

***

Just before five, Sherlock’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen and frowned not recognizing the number, before he answered. He arched a brow. “What did I tell you? Yes, my offer still stands. How many unsolved cases do you have?” He smiled. “I will see you again tomorrow.”  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he patted the cell phone against his chin. He had to work tomorrow. He bit his lower lip, searched the lab’s number on his phone and dialed it. “Linda, Sherlock. I’m not coming in tomorrow, will be there on Friday.” He sighed. “Of course I’m fine.” He ended the call and called Mycroft. “No, calling is faster than texting. I want a favor from you.” He shook his head. “Not money. Let them reduce my working hours at Bart’s.” He sighed. “Why do you always have to know everything? I’m going to be a consulting detective. Yes, consulting detective, google it, I’ll be the first one.” He smiled. “Did he tell you I solved the case? Good, now reduce my hours at the lab. I will be there on Fridays only.” His face flushed. “Good god, Mycroft,” he yelled. “This is what I want to do. Yes without pay.” Sherlock arched a brow. “Is Lestrade there? Put him on the phone.” He waited a few seconds, before Greg answered. “Will you talk some sense into your boyfriend’s head,” he said and dropped the call before he could put Mycroft back on the phone.  
As soon as he took a seat on the couch, a text message came through. He glanced at the screen and smiled, reading the message.  
‘How rude of you to drop the call in Greg’s ear. MH’  
He chucked the phone on the couch when he stood up. He picked up his violin and soon the music swept his mind away from daily life.  
Sherlock went to bed just after midnight and woke early the next morning.  
After he took a shower, he got dressed and rushed downstairs, skipping breakfast.  
A taxi picked him up and drove him to New Scotland Yard.  
Sally met him halfway to Greg’s office. “So, you call yourself now a consulting detective?”  
“Yes, the only one in the world.”  
She snorted as they entered the office.  
Anderson was already inside, discussing a forensics report with Lestrade. He rolled his eyes when he noticed Sherlock. “Oh god,” he mumbled. “Coming to solve another case, Mister Detective wannabe?”  
“Consulting detective, Anderson. Get your facts straight.”  
Sally smirked. “Yes, the only one in the world.” She imitated his words from earlier.  
He ignored her and fixed his eyes on Lestrade.  
Greg jumped up from behind his desk. “Good god what is wrong with you. He’s here to help us. Have some respect for his talent. If it wasn’t for him that bloody gardener would’ve killed again.” He glared at them before he sat down again. “Teamwork people, teamwork.” He rolled his eyes, sighing. “Now, can we get back to work?”  
Sally and Anderson nodded.  
The phone on his desk rang. He grabbed it to answer. “Yes. Speaking.” He jumped up. “We’ll be there in a minute.” He chucked the receiver onto the phone and grabbed his jacket. “They found a body in the Grand Deluxe hotel’s basement parking. Sherlock, you’re coming with me.”  
“Why does he have to go to the crime scene?”  
Greg glared at Anderson. “Stop this bullshit, both of you. You’re starting to annoy me.”  
Sally gaped at him. “I didn’t say anything.”  
“The expression on your face says a lot.” He charged out the office with Sherlock behind him.  
Half an hour later, they stopped in front of the hotel with Anderson and Sally right behind them.  
They entered the hotel and found the manager in the lobby.  
After explaining to them that the deceased was one of their guests, he accompanied them to the lift and down to the basement parking.  
He showed them the body and left after Lestrade ordered him to go.  
Before examining the area or the body, all of them put on protective clothing, gloves and shoe covers except Sherlock. He took only a pair of gloves and strolled over to the body.  
“You will contaminate the crime scene,” Anderson called out to him.  
He kept on walking, ignoring him.  
Greg drew a deep breath. “Let him go, he knows what he’s doing.”  
Sally snorted. “Does he?”  
After only a few minutes with the body, Sherlock picked up a lot more than clues.  
Greg stood with his arms crossed and smiled while watching him in action. “I told you he was good,” he whispered to Anderson.  
He rolled his eyes while shaking his head and walked over to Sally. “This is bullshit. We had to study, attend classes and he just walks in here as if he was sent by God.”  
Sally turned around facing him. “Where did Lestrade find him, that’s what I like to know?”

***

A day later, there was another body found in the basement parking. Greg phoned Sherlock, informed him about it, but he was at the lab and was unable to accompanied him.  
On Monday, Sherlock solved the case and they arrested the janitor.   
Greg gave him files of other unsolved cases. One after the other he solved them as well. He saved prisoners, wrongfully accused, from death penalty. Sometimes he received incentives from their families as gratitude for his help.  
Soon his name appeared in newspapers next to Lestrade’s.  
Even Mycroft came to him for help when MI6 had an unsolved problem.  
Sherlock invested in a few coats and scarfs to stand out from the rest when he had to do investigations. He became attached to his new look and wore the dark blue scarf twisted around his neck along with the long black or navy coat with its collar turned up every time he sat foot out of his flat.  
At first, Mycroft, Lestrade and his team made fun of him until they were used to it.  
Sherlock resigned his position in the lab at St. Bartholomew hospital. He didn’t have the time to work there, as well as solving cases. With a good word from Mycroft, the CEO of the hospital granted him permission to use the lab whenever he needed it. It suited him. His bachelor’s flat was too small. There wasn’t enough space to put up the new microscope he bought along with other necessary lab equipment.  
Sherlock sighed as he struggled to make his way through and over boxes standing on the floor. He had to find a new flat, and soon.


	12. Big Brother Is Watching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos ♥

While working on another case Lestrade and his team couldn’t solve, Sherlock fell asleep next to the microscope. He was alone at the lab and it was already past midnight.  
He woke an hour later with a stiff neck and sore back. He had to stay awake until he was finished. If he had only one tablet, it would see him through. He glanced at his watch, jumped up and put on his coat before he left.  
A taxi dropped him off a few blocks from the hospital. He waited until the driver drove off before he walked into a dark alley. His eyes skimmed over the area.  
When he noticed someone approaching, he pushed his back against the wall, hoping the person didn’t see him. His heart hammered in his chest. Was it the dealer? It might be a mugger or even a killer.  
He was hardly breathing. He narrowed his eyes trying to recognize the man.  
“Yo, Sherly my man,” the man called out.  
Sherlock sighed with relief. “I took a chance, I didn’t know if you were still dealing here.”  
“Long time man, where you been?” the black man asked.  
“I stopped using, Whitey.”  
He frowned. “Now what you doing here?”  
“I need just one. I have to finish this thing I’m working on and I keep falling asleep.”  
“Going to cost you a lot, better you take five I give it for same price as one.”  
Sherlock shook his head. “Fine, give me five. Is the price still the same?”  
“What you pay last time?”  
He sighed. “I can’t remember.”  
The black man held his hand out. “Give me hundred pounds for five.”  
Neither of the two men noticed the car stopping at the end of the alley. A man climbed out and strolled towards them.  
Sherlock took out his wallet and opened it. “Where’s the tablets, Whitey. If you run with my money, I’ll hunt you down.”  
He snorted. “What? No Sherly man, I will never run with your money. The tablets are in my pocket.” He took out a sachet with the five small tablets inside and laid it on the palm of his hand. “There, you believe me now?”  
He chuckled when he took two fifty pound notes out of his wallet. Before he could hand the money over, a voice spoke in the dark behind them.  
“I wouldn’t if I were you, Sherlock.”  
He flung around. “Greg, what are you doing here?” When he turned back, Whitey was gone. “Now looked what you’ve done,” he cried out. “Did Mycroft send you?”  
“Yes, he worries about you. He saw on the CCTV monitor in his office you were heading over here. He knows it’s your old dealing place, so he woke me up and asked me to save you from falling for this crap again.”  
Sherlock raised his head and scanned the buildings. “There are no surveillance cameras here.” His brows furrowed, making nose crinkles. “What’s he still doing at the office?”  
Greg pointed to a camera at the end of the alley. “There’s one where the taxi dropped you off. He’s still at the office because he’s looking out for you.”  
He placed his hands in his coat pockets and turned around, biting his lower lip. He could kill Mycroft for spying on him.  
Greg took him by the arm. “Come. I’ll take you home.”  
He jerked loose and charged down the alley, his long coat flapping behind him.  
Greg sighed, while watching him, before he followed.  
The two men drove in silence to the flat.  
Sherlock jumped out when the car stopped. He slammed the door shut and stormed into the building and up the stairs.  
He fell down on the couch, lit a cigarette and reached for his phone in his pocket. He typed a text message to his brother and sent it.  
Seconds later, the phone beeped with a reply.  
‘I’m not spying on you, Sherlock. I saved your life tonight, well, Greg too. MH’  
Sherlock chucked the phone on the couch after he read the message and jumped up. He bumped his leg against one of the boxes and grunted. He had to find another flat.

***

Sherlock woke up late that morning. He sighed when he glanced at his watch and threw the duvet off him. If he stayed awake for the night, he could’ve solved the case already.  
He jumped out of bed, grabbed a cigarette and lit it. He drew a deep breath of smoke, raised his head and released the smoke slowly towards the ceiling.  
After the second cigarette, he dragged himself through the shower. He put on clean pajamas, flopped onto the couch and called Greg. “I’m fine, stop worrying.” He rolled his eyes. “Mycroft is filling your head with all kinds of rubbish about me. I know you’re gullible because you’re still in love. My god, I thought you were the dominant one. Ha, was I wrong.” Sherlock’s eyes enlarged. “Yes, I’m done. I called because I want a phone number from you.” He shook his head. “No, the case is closed. The file is in the archives.” His face dulled. “No, don’t ask Anderson, no, neither Sally. I’ll get dressed and come over to look for it myself.” A smile formed on his face. “His name is Hudson. A drug cartel case, he got the death penalty. Yes, that’s the one.” Sherlock lit another cigarette before he continued. “I want his wife’s phone number. Thanks.”  
Sherlock paced up and down the flat, smoking the one cigarette after the other while waiting for Greg to call back.  
An hour later, he took his violin and started playing. A knock on the door distracted him. He started over and stopped again when another knock followed. He grimaced when he put the violin down.  
He sauntered over to the door and yanked it open. Sherlock rolled his eyes. He turned around, headed for the couch and sat down, crossing his legs.  
Mycroft entered the flat and gasped aloud. “Goodness me, what happened here?”  
“What do you want, Mycroft?”  
“You need a bigger place, little brother.”  
Sherlock glared at him. “Do you think I don’t… No wait, you don’t think.”  
He took a seat next to him while glancing at the boxes around him. “What do you have in these boxes?”  
“My lab equipment I bought while I still had money.”  
“You know you can come to me if you’re in trouble, financially I mean.”  
He snorted. “And other troubles you’ll resolve on your own without my knowledge. Am I right?”  
Mycroft tapped the tip of his umbrella on the floor while he drew his lips in a thin line. “What is your business with the wife of the drug cartel lord?”  
Sherlock jumped up. “Did your boyfriend called you up to ask permission before he gives me her phone number?”  
“Stop acting like a bloody child, Sherlock.”  
“Do you want a cigarette?” he asked after he took one out and lit it.  
He took one. “Greg will kill me. He doesn’t like it when I smoke.”  
Sherlock lit his brother’s cigarette. “Why not, he smokes too.” He chuckled. “Maybe you’re too butch for him with a cigarette in your hand.”  
“Ugh, don’t be silly. You didn’t answer my question, yet.”  
“Which one?”  
He rolled his eyes while pulling on his cigarette. “Hudson’s wife, why do you want her number?”  
He took place next to his brother again. “Dear Missis Hudson, she said if I ever needed a flat I can call her anytime. Well, I need a bigger flat.”  
Mycroft sighed with relief.  
Sherlock turned his head slowly towards him, raising a brow. “You didn’t…” He gasped aloud. “Oh my god, you and Greg thought I want to contact her for drugs.” He jumped up again. “My god, Mycroft, the woman didn’t even know he was a drug lord until he was busted for it,” he yelled. “She was elated when he was sentence to death.”  
“Calm down, little brother, everyone makes mistakes.”  
“Some too many than others.”  
“I suppose you are flawless?”  
He nodded. “I made one mistake, though.”  
“Yes, we all know what that was.”  
Sherlock furrowed his brows. “No, not that. I was wrong to think Greg was the dominant one in your relationship.”  
Mycroft’s eyes enlarged as his face flushed. “What did he tell you?”  
Sherlock smiled when he picked up his violin and played God saves the Queen on it.  
Mycroft jumped up, glared at his brother and marched to the door. “Just remember, my eyes are fixed on you, day and night,” he announced and hurried out of the flat.  
He kept on smiling, stopped playing and put the violin down to shut the door.  
Minutes after his brother left, his phoned beeped. It was Greg, sending a text message with Missis Hudson’s cell phone number.  
Sherlock burst out with laughter.  
After he calmed down, he gave her a call.  
She recognized him immediately after he told her his name.  
“I know it’s out of the blue, but do you have a vacant flat?” He nodded. “I can come tomorrow.” He smiled. “No need to write it down, I’ll remember the address, Missis Hudson.” He chuckled. “Yes, two two one B, Baker Street. Good day to you too, Missis Hudson.” He ended the call and jumped in the air, yelling. “Yes.”


	13. 221B Baker Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos ♥

Mike moved his chair backwards and stood up. “I’m going for lunch, do you want something form the café?”  
Sherlock looked up from the microscope and glanced at his watch. “One o’clock already?” He stood up, stretched his back and took his packet of cigarettes out of his lab coat’s pocket. “I’m on the roof if anyone’s looking for me.”  
Mark accompanied him to the lift. “Do you want me to bring you something?”  
“Yes, a flat mate.”  
He chuckled. “So, when did you decide to change your mind?”  
“Last night when I checked my budget.” Sherlock got out when the lift stopped on the top floor.  
“And something to eat?” Mike asked while keeping the door open.  
“No thanks.”  
He shook his head after the doors shut, pressed the ground floor button and smiled all the way down.  
After he bought a hot dog and milkshake, he went over to the park across the hospital to his usual spot. He took place on one of the benches to eat, when he noticed a familiar face passing him by. “John,” he called out, but the man kept on walking. He put his lunch down and jumped up. “John Watson, he called out again, louder this time.  
The man stopped and turned around. He didn’t recognize him at first and frowned, while walking closer.  
“It’s Mike, from school.”  
His face lit up. “Oh yeah, Mike.”  
“How are you? Heard you got shot in Afghanistan.”  
“Well, as you can see I’m doing fine.”  
“I’m having lunch, can I get you something?”  
“Just coffee, thanks.”  
Mike pointed to the bench where he left his food. “Have a seat. Be with you in a minute.” He trotted off as fast as his plump body allowed him to the café. He hurried back with John’s coffee and handed it to him.  
Out of breath, he fell down on the bench, grabbed his milkshake and took a mouthful. “When did you return?  
“About a month ago.”  
“Where are you staying now?”  
John sighed. “In a room across town, on my army pension I can hardly afford the rent.”  
Mike smiled. “This is a coincidence. A colleague of mine is looking for a flat mate. Are you interested?”  
His eyes enlarged. “Yes of course. Where are you working?”  
He pointed to the tall building on his left. “St. Bart’s hospital, I’m a lab technician there.”  
After he finished his lunch, he glanced at his watch. “I have still ten minutes left, but we can go now if you’re in a hurry.”  
John shook his head. “No hurry, only an empty room awaits me.”  
They chatted about schooldays until the time was up, before heading back to the hospital.  
They took the lift up to the lab.  
He opened the door and glanced around. “Is Sherlock still up on the roof?”  
Linda shrugged. “I guess so.”  
He shut the lab door and turned around. “Let me show you to the roof.”  
They took the lift again and climbed out on the top floor.  
“Sorry, I’m not going with you. The stairs will kill me. Just take them up and go through the door. You’ll find him there smoking.”  
John nodded and started climbing the two flights of stairs until he found the door and pushed it open. He glanced at the slender tall man dressed in a dark suit, with a cigarette between his fingers. His black curly hair ruffled from the wind. He paced closer. “Those things will kill you,” he said and raised a brow when the man didn’t even twitch a finger.  
“People die all the time, smoking or non-smoking,” Sherlock said before he turned around and drew another breath of smoke.  
John smiled. “Mike said I’ll find you here?”  
“Are you here about the flat?”  
His eyes enlarged. “How did you know?”  
He smiled, put out the cigarette butt and walked closer. “Sherlock Holmes,” he said and held out his hand.  
“John Watson,” he said while shaking his hand.  
“Do you want to see the flat now or are you in a hurry?”  
“Now is fine, but you’re still on duty.”  
Sherlock walked past him and held the door opened. “I’m not working here.”  
John shook his head while frowning. “I’m confused. Mike called you, a colleague of his.”  
“Are you coming?”  
“Yes, I’m sorry,” he said and sped up his pace.  
They trotted down the stairs.  
“So, what do you do if you’re not working here,” he asked after they stepped into the lift.  
“I’m a consulting detective. I used to work here, but now I’m using the lab only when I have to analyze evidence I found on crime scenes.”  
John frowned and blinked a few times. “But don’t the police have a forensics lab to analyze the evidence?”  
Sherlock glanced at him when they got out of the lift. “They do, but I take my own samples and sometimes they don’t see it as evidence while I do.” He held the lab door open, waited until John had entered and stepped inside as well.  
Mike smiled. “I see you found each other.”  
John’s eyes enlarged, while the corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched once.  
They glanced at Mike without saying a word.  
Sherlock grabbed his cell phone, put it inside his trousers pocket and headed back to the door. “Shall we go,” he said keeping the door open. “I just need to get my coat in my locker.”  
They walked down the corridor to the locker room.  
“What kind of work are you doing?”  
“I’m a doctor. An army doctor actually. I got shot and had to return.”  
“In your shoulder. Were you in Afghanistan or Iraq?” he asked while opening his locker.  
“Afghanistan, but how did you know I got shot in the shoulder?”  
Sherlock put his dark blue scarf around his neck, put on his coat and flipped the collar up. “You keep touching your right shoulder, sometimes rolling it while pulling a face. The pain is still bugging you. Am I right?”  
John shook his head in disbelieve, before he smiled. “That’s amazing.”  
They strolled back to the lift, took it to the ground floor and exited the hospital building.  
Sherlock hopped off the pavement and held his hand up for a taxi.  
They got in after a taxi stopped.  
“221B Baker Street,” he said and glanced at John. “I hope you’ll like the flat.”  
“Ugh, anything will be better than the room I’m staying in.”  
“And the violin,” Sherlock added.  
John’s head jerked around. “Sorry?”  
“I play the violin when I’m thinking and when I want to escape from the world. I hope it won’t bother you.”  
“Oh, no it won’t.”  
The taxi dropped them off in front of the address he gave.  
Using the doorknocker, Sherlock knocked on the door.  
A woman in her late sixties opened up. Her face lit up. “Sherlock,” she called out and threw her arms around him after he stepped closer.  
“This is John Watson, my new flat mate,” he said after freeing himself from her arms. He turned to John. “Missis Hudson, our landlady.”  
“Come in you two, come in.” She shut the door after they’ve entered and went back to her flat while the two men walked upstairs.  
Sherlock opened the door, stepped inside and watched John’s face while he entered the flat.  
John nodded after he looked around. “Yes, I like it.”  
He smiled. “My thoughts exactly.”  
He pointed over the living room. “This boxes and stuff, will Missis Hudson remove it?”  
Sherlock’s face dulled. “It’s mine. I moved in two days ago. It will be out of the way when you move in.”  
“Oh sorry, I didn’t know.”  
Missis Hudson pushed the door open and entered with a tray in her hands.  
“Oh, let me.” John took the tray from her and placed it on the kitchen table.  
“Well, what do you think of the place, John?”  
He nodded. “It’s nice.”  
She grabbed his arm and cuddled up against him. “Nice and cozy for new lovers, isn’t it.”  
John’s eyes enlarged. “We’re not lovers.”  
“Don’t be shy, John. I like them all.”  
Sherlock smiled while pouring tea. He bit and sucked on his lower lip to keep him from laughing.  
He brought them each a cup and returned to the kitchen for his.  
After they had tea, Missis Hudson took the tray and left the two men alone.  
“When can you move in?”  
“By the end of next week, I have to give a week’s notice.”  
Sherlock gazed at the handsome man in front of him. He pulled a face. “So, I have to be alone for another week.”  
John smiled at him. “Time goes by so fast, before you know it I’ve moved in.”  
“What are you doing tonight?”  
“Sitting in my room, trying to start a blog,” he replied. He took a deep breath. “So, do you have a girlfriend?”  
Sherlock smiled. “No.”  
“Me neither.”  
“I know. Do you have a boyfriend?”  
John’s eyes narrowed for a second, before he cleared his throat and changed his position on the chair before he answered. “Um, no.”  
With his elbow on the arm of the chair, Sherlock supported his head on his thumb and two fingers, while glancing at him. “Me neither,” he said still smiling.  
John frowned and looked him in the eye. “Why do you find this so amusing?”  
“I find us amusing. Firstly, the one wants to determine if the other one’s gay. After we concluded we are both gay, we, secondly, wanted to find out if we are single.”  
John licked his lips before he smiled. “I know. It’s silly.”  
“The minute I saw you there on the roof, I knew you were gay.”  
“Impossible? Look at me, I’m butch.”  
Sherlock jumped up when his phone rang. “No I’m not busy,” he answered. “Be there right away.” He turned to John. “Do you want to go with me to a crime scene?”  
“Hell yes,” he said and jumped up.  
Sherlock put on his scarf and coat, and trotted downstairs with John behind him.  
They rushed out of the building onto the pavement and stopped a taxi.  
Sherlock gave the cabby the address after they jumped in and leaned back in his seat, glancing out the window aware of John’s eyes on him.


	14. Mycroft and Greg Come For Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos ♥

John didn’t wait for the end of that following week to relocate. He moved in two days later. He accompanied Sherlock to every crime scene, helped him searching for clues and solving cases.  
Almost two months later, he met Mycroft in a peculiar way.  
John returned from shopping when a black sedan with tinted windows stopped next to him. The chauffeur jumped out and opened the backdoor, ordering him to get it. After he refused, his cell phone rang. When he answered, a voice commanded him to get into the car. The person called him by his name and profession.  
He sighed after the person dropped the call.  
When he climbed into the car, his eyes enlarged when the man in the back spoke to him. “It was you on the phone. How did you know my number?”  
Mycroft smiled. “Doctor John Watson, finally we meet.”  
He frowned. “How do you know me?”  
“How is Sherlock? Is he behaving himself?”  
John snorted. “Who are you and how do you know Sherlock?”  
He pulled a face. “He never talks about me? That’s a shame. We’ve come such a long way.”  
“Sod this, I’m getting out.” He reached for the door handle. When he pulled it, the door didn’t open.  
Mycroft chuckled. “Sorry, kiddies lock. It opens only from the outside.”  
John reached for his phone. “I’m calling the police if I don’t get answers from you soon.”  
“Oh you can try, they will laugh at you.” He fiddled with his umbrella’s handle. “I want you to keep an eye on Sherlock for me. I worry about him, constantly.”  
He snorted while shaking his head. “Are you an old boyfriend?”  
“Oh god no, he’s my little brother.”  
John rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you bloody say so in the first place? I’m staying there for nearly two months and you never visit him once. Why don’t you stop by one afternoon? Come and see for yourself how he’s doing.” He bit on his teeth. “Now open this bloody door and let me out.”  
Mycroft tapped his umbrella against the window separating the driver from them.  
The backdoor opened up seconds later.  
John grabbed his shopping bag, jumped out and bent down glancing at him. “Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? I’m cooking.”  
“Oh how sweet. The two of you have cooking arrangements. May I bring, um, a plus one?”  
He raised a brow and shrugged. “Bring whomever like.” John shut the door and shook his head as the car drove off. What an odd man. He shook his head again before he walked off in the direction of the flat.  
When John entered the flat, he found Sherlock on his back on the couch with his eyes shut and his hands together in front of his face. He raised a brow before he stepped into the kitchen and put the shopping bag on the table. “I met you brother just now,” he said while emptying the bag. He frowned, let go of everything and walked back to the living room. “Did you hear me? I said I met your brother.”  
Sherlock opened his eyes and sighed. “Oh god, what did he want?”  
“Not much, he was glad to meet me and he asked how you were.”  
“Did you tell him?”  
“No, I’ve invited him for dinner so that he can see for himself.”  
He jumped up and glared at John. “Why did you do that for?”  
“He’s your brother, Sherlock. I’m living here for almost two months and I didn’t know you had a brother. You never talk about him.”  
“What about Harry, why doesn’t she visit you or you visit her?”  
“That’s different. We don’t like each other very much.”  
“No different from Mycroft and me. He makes my life hell and I annoy him.”  
John returned to the kitchen. “Anyway, he’s coming over tonight.” He glanced back and chuckled. “He asked if he could bring a plus one.”  
Sherlock smiled when he stepped into the kitchen. “His plus one is Greg.”  
His eyes enlarge while he gaped at him. “Lestrade, Greg Lestrade from Scotland yard?”  
He nodded.  
John blinked a few time while he smiled. “I didn’t know he’s gay.”  
Sherlock glanced inside the empty bag. “What are you cooking tonight?”  
“I bought chicken, veggies and…”  
“And what?”  
“Biscuits, buttermilk biscuits,” he said and took the packet out of the drawer where he hid it. He wanted to give it to him tonight, but since he upset him with word from his brother, he gave it now instead.  
Sherlock kissed him on the cheek, grabbed the packet and trotted back to the living room.  
John shook his head while waiting for his throbbing heart to calm down. “No, it can’t be,” he muttered.  
He took a deep breath before he grabbed the chicken, cut it into portions and rinsed it in the sink. With the water still running, he stared blindly in front of him, thinking of those warm tender lips on his cheek.  
The chicken portions covered the outlet, keeping the water from draining. The sink filled up with water until it flowed over the side.  
John blinked a few times when he became aware of water running down his legs. His eyes enlarged when he noticed the sink had overflowed. “Oh fuck,” he cried out and shoved the chicken aside to drain the water.  
“Are you okay, John,” Sherlock called out from the living room.  
“Yes.” He grabbed dishcloths to dry the floor, but there was too much water. He raced off to the bathroom, grabbed two towels and rushed back to the kitchen.  
“What’s going on in there?” Sherlock put the packet of biscuits down and stood up. He gasped aloud when he noticed the water on the floor. “Are you trying to flood the kitchen?”  
John stood on his knees wiping the floor. “No, when I turned my back for a second the sink overflowed.” If he only knew, he was thinking of him and his sweet lips. “Bloody hell,” he yelled.  
“Can I help you with something, John?”  
“Yes, bring me another towel.”  
Sherlock came back with more towels. “Let me dry up then you can continue preparing the chicken.”  
He stood up and took one of the towels. “I’m soaking wet.”  
“Take off your trousers or you’ll wet the rest of the floor.”  
John glanced at him.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh god, I’ll turn around.”  
He waited until he turned his back, before taking off his wet trousers. He dried his legs and shoes before he hurried out of the kitchen.  
Sherlock turned around just in time to see his cute butt in the red underpants and his well-formed bare legs. He smiled and dried the rest of the floor. He left the towels and cloths in a pile in the corner of the kitchen to fetch a bucket in the bathroom.  
John returned after he changed into another set of clothing. “Did you manage?”  
He nodded. “Yes, I’m just getting a bucket.”  
John continued preparing dinner.  
Sherlock came back with a bucket and chucked the wet cloths and towels inside. When he lifted the bucket, John took it out of his hands.  
“It’s too heavy. Let me carry it.”  
He frowned when he let go. “I am capable to carry heavy things,” he said while following him to the bathroom.  
John emptied the bucket in the washing machine and turned to him. “You don’t have to do everything yourself, you know. Let a man… me help you with the heavy lifting.”  
Sherlock gaped at him, speechless.  
John left him standing in the bathroom while he hurried back to the kitchen.  
Soon the flat filled with the aroma of oven-baked chicken.  
When Mycroft and Greg arrived at six, dinner was ready.  
John ignored Mycroft and greeted Greg.  
“I believe you two have met, thanks to my brother.”  
He nodded. “Dinner is ready. Will you set the table, Sherlock?”  
Mycroft smiled, leaned over to Greg and whispered. “Look at them, aren’t they a cute couple.”  
“Don’t start, Mycroft,” Sherlock said and glared at him before continuing to set the table.  
“We brought a bottle of white wine,” Greg announced, took it out of the bag and walked over to John.  
“I noticed the chicken in your shopping bag while you were in my car. I figured it was dinner and asked him to buy white wine instead of red.”  
John’s face flushed with anger. “Don’t even mention that. You kept me prisoner in your bloody car.”  
“Oh come now. Let’s not argue, John. That’s in the past.”  
Dinner wasn’t as awkward as Sherlock expected it would be. In fact, he enjoyed the evening. For once, he and Mycroft were civil around a table. No catfights like when they were still in school and no sarcastic remarks from either of them like when they were alone in each other’s company.  
Mycroft and Greg left the flat after ten that night.  
“That went well,” John said when they were alone in the flat again. “Your brother is quite a pleasant guy after all.”  
“I suppose he has his moments.”  
After they cleaned up the kitchen, they said good night and disappeared into separate bedrooms.  
Later that night shouting noises woke John. He lay still to listen and gasped when Sherlock screamed. He jumped out of bed and rushed to his bedroom. He knocked on the door and entered.  
Sherlock wriggled on the bed and shouted at someone to let him go.  
John stepped closer and sat down on the bed. He rubbed his arm and tried to hush him. When that didn’t work, John pulled his feet up on the bed and moved closer. He put Sherlock’s head on his lap, brushed his fingers through his curly hair and over his forehead.  
Sherlock stopped squirming. He called out another two times before he settled down.  
John stayed with him until five the next morning. He crawled out from under his head and shut the door after he left the room. He returned to his bedroom, dropped down on the bed and fell asleep.


	15. Nightly Visits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos ♥

John sat at the breakfast table, hanging his head like a wilted flower. After Sherlock woke him, he changed his position, sagged down to the right side and supported his head with his hand.  
Sherlock sat with the newspaper in front of his face, reading. Every now and again, he picked up the cup of coffee, took a sip and put it back on the table without looking away from the paper. “John?” He lowered the left side of the newspaper and glanced at him. “John, wake up. What are you doing at night, definitely not sleeping?  
He jumped upright, rubbed his eyes and pulled his face. “I can’t keep my bloody eyes open.” He stood up, warmed his cup of coffee in the microwave oven and sat down again. He drank half of the coffee, picked up the fork and moved the scrambled eggs from side to side in his plate.  
After Sherlock reached the last page of the newspaper, he folded it in half and put it on the table. “John, you have to eat. You can’t start your day on an empty stomach.”  
He put the fork down. “You never eat breakfast.”  
“I don’t have to eat. When I’m working I’m not eating.” He drank the last bit of coffee in his cup. “Why are you so tired these last few days? What is bugging you?”  
John shook his head, took a bite of the eggs and chewed on it as if it was a piece of gum. He never told Sherlock about the nightmares, neither about his nightly visits to calm him down. “It’s my blog. I don’t keep track of time when I write,” he fibbed.  
“You don’t need to blog about all our cases. Who reads it anyway?”  
“You’d be surprise. I had over two thousand hits on the previous one.”  
Sherlock sighed. “I see in the paper there’s a serial killer loose in London again. Three women strangled already, I’m expecting a call from Lestrade soon.”  
“Are we doing anything today?”  
“No, why?”  
John pushed his plate aside and stood up. “I’m going back to bed, wake me after two hours.”  
Sherlock pulled a face when he left the table. “What am I going to do all by myself?”  
“What you did before I moved in with you.”

***

When John woke after four hours of sleep, he glanced at the clock radio and jumped out of bed when he noticed the time. Sherlock didn’t wake him after two hours, as he asked. He straightened his clothes and rushed into the living room. “Sherlock,” he called out. He glanced inside the kitchen and in the bathroom. He was alone in the flat. Where could Sherlock be?  
John rushed downstairs to Missis Hudson’s flat and knocked on the door.  
She opened up and smiled. “John, did you have a nice nap? Come in, dear.”  
“No thank you, Missis Hudson. I’m looking for Sherlock?”  
“He said you would come looking for him. He’s at St. Bart’s, at the morgue.”  
His eyes enlarged. “The morgue, what’s he doing there? Did Lestrade call him for a case?”  
“No dear, he called Molly to find out if she has any fresh cadavers.” She grimaced while her body shuddered.  
John furrowed his brows while gaping at her. “What does he want with… Oh, never mind.” He raced back up the stairs, grabbed his jacket and ran down again.  
He stood a while before a taxi stopped next to him. He jumped in, gave the hospital’s address and stared out the window after he moved back in the seat.  
After the taxi dropped him off in front of the hospital, he inquired at reception on which floor the morgue was.  
He took the lift down. When he got out, he ran into Sherlock who was on his way to the lift.  
“John? What are you doing here? You should’ve waited for me.”  
“And you should’ve wakened me to tell me you were leaving.”  
He scoffed at John. “Since when do I have to tell you my whereabouts?”  
“No you don’t have to, Sherlock. I’ll mind my own business and stop worrying about you.”  
He flung around and marched back to the lift.  
Sherlock’s eyes enlarged while gaping at him. “John, wait.” He caught up with him and grabbed his arm. “Why do you worry about me?”  
He turned around and glared at him. “Because I… I care about.”  
Sherlock smiled. “I care about you too, John.”  
“No you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t leave me alone not telling me where you’re going.”  
“How can I prove to you that I do care? I’ll buy you a coffee.”  
“I don’t want coffee. Are you done here, can we go home.”  
“Yes, I’m done.”  
They stepped into the lift.  
He glanced at John. “Is there something else I can buy, since you don’t want coffee?”  
John shut his eyes. He move closer and raised his head looking him in the eye. “You don’t have to buy me anything.” His lips parted as if he wanted to speak but instead of saying something, he slipped the tip of his tongue out, licking his lower lip while drowning in Sherlock green-blue eyes.  
Sherlock glided his gaze over to his mouth and held his breath. “Stop that,” he said, before returning his gaze to John’s eyes.  
“Stop what?”  
He shook his head. “Nothing,” he murmured and turned his head away.  
John gazed at him from behind and smiled. Sherlock was attracted to him. He cast his eyes down. Should he make the first move or should he wait until Sherlock was ready to make a move?

***

Two weeks passed before Sherlock had another nightmare again. After the first incident, John didn’t shut his door anymore. He left it ajar to hear as soon as the screaming started.  
Like before, he sat with his back against the headboard while Sherlock curled himself up in a fetal position with his head on John’s lap. He calmed down as soon as John started brushing his fingers through his hair and over his forehead.  
While ruffling Sherlock’s curls, his head fell backwards as he dozed off.  
He never woke up in time to leave the room before five.  
Sherlock stretched and repositioned himself. When he placed his hand underneath his head, he opened his eyes and frowned. He turned his head to see what caused the bulge under his hand and gasped. He jerked his hand away from John’s crotch. He raised his head to look at him. “John,” he whispered, before patting him on the arm. “What are you doing in my bed?” He shook his shoulder.  
“Huh.” John opened his eyes for a second, fluttered his eyelids and shut them again.  
“John,” he called out again.  
He pulled his face and blinked as he forced his eyes open. “What…” he grunted. He rubbed his eyes and glanced down at Sherlock staring at him with enlarged eyes. He gasped aloud and jumped out of bed. “Oh my god, I fell asleep.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, yawned and scratched the back of his head with both hands.  
“What were you doing here?” Sherlock asked for the second time and stood up as well. He walked over to the other side of the bed and took place next to John.  
He sighed. “You’ve been having these nightmares.”  
Sherlock’s face dulled. “Ugh, not again. I thought they were gone.”  
“I sat with you every night while you were having them. Usually I stay awake and leave before five. I don’t know why I dozed off this time.”  
“You poor thing, you sit here the whole night listening to my yelling.”  
John shook his head. “No, that’s the thing. As soon as I put your head on my lap and brush my fingers repeatedly through your hair, you calm down.”  
Sherlock gazed at him and smiled. “You, John Watson, keep me right.” He kissed him on the cheek and stood up.  
John jumped up and grabbed his arm before he could leave the room. He pulled him closer, raised his heels to stand on the tips of his toes and kissed him on the lips.  
Sherlock gasped as a tingling feeling rushed through his body.  
“You’ve asked me the other day what you can buy me.”  
“And you said I don’t have to buy you anything.”  
“Yes I know. What I want comes for free.”  
Sherlock’s heart hammered in his chest, scared to ask. He swallowed a lump and took a deep breath. “What do you want, John?”  
“I want this, I want you.”  
His breathing sped up. “You don’t want me, John. I’m damaged goods.”  
John gazed into his eyes. “I don’t mind. I can wait.”  
He threw his arms around him. “Oh, John.”  
He put his arms around Sherlock’s slender body and smiled as he held him tight.


	16. Lovers at Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving kudos ♥

Sherlock sat at the kitchen table after making breakfast for John. It was the first morning he didn’t sit with the newspaper in front of him. His head rested on his hand while he stared in front of him.  
John glanced at him. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”  
He smiled before shaking his head.  
The newspaper lay on the table next to him as usual. He traced the headline letters with his fingers.  
John placed his hand on his. “I’m not rushing you into anything, Sherlock.”  
His fingers stopped tracing the letters. He looked up and smiled. “I know,” he said and stood up from the table.  
John stood up after he left, put the dirty dishes in the sink and strolled towards the bathroom to take a shower.  
Sherlock picked up his violin and played a piece of music he composed a few days ago.  
John’s eyes enlarged when the music came drifting towards him. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom. He leaned against the doorway, watching him. “That’s beautiful,” he said after Sherlock stopped.  
He turned around and smiled. “Do you think so? It’s my own composition.”  
John arched a brow. “Wow, a beautiful face, and talented as well.”  
Sherlock waved his hand back and forth. “Put something on, you’re distracting me.”  
He snorted. “Okay, I’m leaving. I have to take a shower first.”  
He turned to the window and glanced out of it while playing different pieces of music.  
John came back after his shower, fully dressed this time.  
After cleaning up the kitchen, he went back to the living room and sat in his favorite chair while listening to the violin music.  
When Sherlock’s phone beeped, John picked it up and read the message. “It’s Mycroft.”  
“Ignore him,” he said and kept on playing.  
“I think it’s important, Sherlock.”  
He lowered the violin and turned to John. “What does he want?”  
“He says Britain needs you.”  
Sherlock’s face dulled. “Not now.” He put the violin down, grabbed the phone from John and dialed Mycroft’s number. “What now, don’t you think Britain can wait?” He sighed and shut his eyes as he listened while his brother explained. “Fine, I’ll do it.” He pulled a face and chucked the phone on the couch.  
“Is something wrong, Sherlock?”  
“Yes, I have to leave. Mycroft’s driver is picking me up in thirty minutes.”  
John’s eyes enlarged. “Where are you going?”  
“France, I’ll be gone for a month, maybe longer.” He rushed into the bathroom and took a shower.  
John stood outside the door waiting for him.  
When he came out he nearly bumped into him. “I’m sorry for leaving, John.” He moved past him and hurried to his bedroom.  
After he packed a few things, he put on his coat and scarf. He frowned when he noticed the expression on John’s face. “Don’t look so worried. I’ll come back.”  
He sighed. “I’ll be waiting.” He took the suitcase from Sherlock, kissed him on the cheek and accompanied him downstairs.  
The black sedan stood in front of the building when they came out.  
The two men glanced at each other.  
Sherlock nodded, took the suitcase from John and jumped in the back of the car.  
John remained standing on the pavement long after the car disappeared. He sighed again before heading back to the flat.

***

Sherlock returned three months later. He glanced at the building, then at the green door with the 221B copperplates and smiled. He missed this place, but not as much as he missed John.  
When he reached for the door, it opened and John appeared in the doorway.  
Both men stared at each other.  
“Hello John.”  
“Sherlock, you’re back.” His eyes shot full of tears. He jumped forward and threw his arms around him. “Oh god, I missed you.”  
Sherlock smiled as he pulled John against him. “We better go inside, the neighbors will talk.”  
“Sod the neighbors.” He placed his hands on Sherlock’s cheeks, pulled him down and kissed him on the lips. “Now they can talk.” He grabbed his suitcase, held the door open and trotted behind him up the stairs.  
Sherlock took his coat and scarf off, hung it behind the door before he stepped into the living room and dropped onto his chair.  
John sat down in his chair opposite him. “Tell me, did you save Britain?”  
He chuckled. “Oh, my brother can be a real drama queen.”  
John moved to the edge of his chair and placed his hand on Sherlock’s knee. “Did you have time to think when you were in France?”  
He smiled. “I had plenty of time, John. After work, it was all I did, thinking of you… of us.”  
“And?”  
“Do you promise not to rush me?”  
John moved off the seat, down onto his knees and placed his hands around Sherlock’s hips. “Oh god yes, I promise.” He stood up and bent over, drowning in the green-blue eyes.  
Sherlock tilted his head backwards when John’s lips covered his mouth. He uttered noises of pleasure. “Oh, I missed kissing,” he whispered when John traced his lips down his neck.

***

John kept his promise and waited patiently. Their relationship consisted of cuddles and kisses alone. It suited Sherlock. He didn’t want to take another risk in having sex and relived that moment when his professor brutally raped him.  
Not once did John demanded sex from him or even suggested it.  
He preferred that they slept in John’s bedroom. He loved his manly smell that was all over the room and in his bed. He felt safer there as well.  
One night, a voice woke Sherlock. He held his breath to listen. He sighed with relief. It was coming from somewhere in the flat and not from his head as he thought. He reached out to John, but he wasn’t next to him in bed. He stood up and without switching on a light, he paced down the corridor. He frowned when he approached the living room. Someone was moaning and mumbling in there.  
Sherlock retreated to the bathroom. He reached for the mop in the dark. After finding it, he returned to the living room doorway. He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus in the dark. There was someone on the couch.  
He held his breath as he searched for the light switch on the wall. When he found it, he raised the mop and flipped the light on while yelling. “Who are you?” He dropped the mop on the floor and gaped at John wearing his coat.  
John jumped up and covered himself. “Good god, Sherlock,” he shouted. “I thought you were sleeping.”  
Without a word, Sherlock turned around and walked back to the bedroom.  
When John stormed in, he was dressed in his pajamas again. He fell down on the bed and switched the bed lamp on. “Please don’t be mad at me.” He shook his head. “I’m a hot-blooded man with needs.”  
“I’m not mad at you, John. I’m mad at myself for depriving you of sex.”  
He put his arms around Sherlock. “No you’re not. I promised you I won’t rush you, remember.” He sighed. “I had to get rid of this sexual tension.”  
Sherlock pushed him gently away and frowned. “Why did you wear my coat?”  
John’s face flushed. “I wanted to smell you, fantasize, as if it was your hand and not mine.”  
He tried to hide a smile. “How many times did I put my coat on not knowing you wore it the night before?”  
He shook his head. “I swear this was the first time. The other times I did it in the bathroom.”  
Sherlock sighed. “Are you sure you’re up for this asexual relationship?”  
“Yes, of course.” He nodded. “Of course I am.”  
He stood up, sat astride John and pushed him backwards. “I love you, John, but I’m not ready for more than what we have.” He fell on top of him and kissed him.  
John snorted. “Oh no you don’t.” He put his arms around him, held him tight as he came upright and stood up with him in his arms. He turned around and fell back on the bed with Sherlock underneath him. “I’m the dominant one.” He gazed at him and sighed. “My god you’re beautiful.” He traced his fingers along the side of his face, from his high cheekbones down to his neckline, before his mouth covered Sherlock’s luscious lips.  
After a long passionate kiss, he let him go. “We better get some sleep.”  
Sherlock moved up to his side of the bed and chuckled. “Don’t you need my coat before you sleep?”  
John glared at him, before he switched off the light. He put his arm under Sherlock’s head and the other one around his body and pulled him closer.  
Sherlock tried not to burst out with laughter. He kept his pose but the shaking of his body gave him away.  
“Stop laughing and sleep. And not a bloody word about the coat to your brother.”  
“How do you expect me to sleep with that image imprinted in my mind, John?”  
He tightened his grip and yanked him closer. “Shut up and sleep, Sherlock.”

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading and leaving kudos ♥


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